


Some Spots Are Darker

by Girl_chama



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Gen, Slow Burn, ack what's gonna happen?!, wading through angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_chama/pseuds/Girl_chama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an attack hits close to home, Ladybug makes a decision.  It's a good thing Chat Noir is always in her corner, because once they go forward there is no turning back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is how it started:

The sun had yet to rise over most of the 7th Arrondissement, though the beautiful Eiffel's topmost struts already shone like burnished bronze.  When Tom Dupain opened the Boulangerie's door to the street, he noticed none of it as a gust of warm air invited itself in.  Today was promising to scorch the hair off of his mustache, which would be the least of his worries if the delivery truck was any later than now.  After a glance down each of the streets that converged in front of the bakery, he sighed and closed the door once more. 

Sabine's curious expression poked up in the kitchen window, but he shook his head.  They had enough ingredients to make it through another week, but the trucks were already two deliveries behind even though he had paid in advance for both shipments.  Wedding season was on them, and today was the day he had promised himself he would begin calling clients to tell them to cancel their orders.  He would rather lose their business honestly than through deflection. What good would it serve if they were disappointed and angry?

No, that anger he reserved for himself.  He had switched to a new provider three months ago after ten years with a previous company, and now this!  His not-hastily-made decision was coming back to bite him in his substantial ass. They were going to lose money for sure if the two backlogged shipments didn't come today.  Worse, even if the stock came in he didn't know where they were going to put all of it.  The house would be full to Marinette's loft.

Sabine's floured hand popped into view of the kitchen window, beckoning him back, and he pulled his apron back into place.  A moment later, he opened the door for her as she drew a lacquered tray of warm croissant into the front of house.

"Nothing yet?" she asked softly.

"Nothing," he sighed.  She clucked her tongue, not looking up from the whirling spire of pastry she was arranging.  

"Well, I can call Collingnon at the market to see if he won't give us a discount on some stock- just enough to get us through a few days."

Tom frowned, "We did that last week, and-"

Husband and wife looked up to the house door in tandem as Marinette stumbled in, still in her pajamas.  Sabine looked to Tom, who blinked wide eyes and looked back at his daughter.  She seemed to be only half-awake, one pigtail lost and her forehead scrunched as she shuffled towards the front counter.  She looked like an extra in one of the zombie flicks she and Alya had been watching lately.

"Mrgfgn," she garbled.

Her hand clawed haphazardly for a buttery croissant while Sabine chuckled.

"Good morning to you, too, darling," she offered, holding out one of the warmer rolls.  When Marinette leaned forward to take it, Sabine snuck a kiss against her daughter’s crown and then pushed the zombie back towards the house.  How she had made it down three flights of stairs in such a state was a mystery that was better left to the teenage mind.

They watched her go, both of their moods brightened as their best work of art worked herself back upstairs.

Then their spirits dampened once more as Sabine turned back to Tom, "I'll call Collingnon?"

He sighed, pushing off of the countertop as he moved toward the kitchen.  The last thing he wanted was his wife calling the grouchy, arrogant man, but he had the best prices in a pinch.

"Sure, dear.  Thank you."

* * *

Marinette licked the last flaky crumb from her thumb, feeling almost human as she swallowed it down.  She had a few final touches to put on her English essay before it was due this morning else she would never have been up so early.

Even Tikki was still sleeping, and the little sprite was more of a morning person than Marinette herself.  

More charged, she turned to her desktop and began clacking at the keys, right where she had left off last night before giving up. Normally she would have only quit on homework after tete-a-tete with an Akuma, but she felt a little sheepish to recall that there had not been a victim to rescue in several days.  After so many nights off, she had fallen into a steadily developing habit of live-streaming movies with Alya.  Last night’s Mummies Maul Marseilles had been even better than Tarasque Takes Toulouse.

Somehow the exciting memories of those monsters and their costumes seemed less appealing in the rosy morning light, and with only... She chanced a glance at her phone- urgh- four hours of sleep under her belt was the woooooorst.

By the time she finished the essay and submitted it online, it was already half an hour past her normal wakeup time.  She scooted away from her desk and began to dress for class.  

Jeans!  Shirt!  Sweater!  Hair...!

"Eeee," she groaned, fingering the thick strands into something more recognizably Marinette.  

Tikki was up with the sunlight, her Kwami adorably cheerful.  "Ready for breakfast?" she asked with a grin.

"I can't believe you're so awake!"

"Ha, ‘awake’.  Riiight."

Both girls descended the stairs to the kitchen where Mom was pouring a cup of fragrant, red tea.  Tikki zipped into her hiding place as Marinette accepted a cup and saucer.

"Good morning!" she said with a smile of thanks.

"Ah!  She speaks!"

"Hey, I spoke before!"

"Grunting doesn't qualify as words, dear."

Marinette grinned at the teasing and took a bolstering sip of the tea.  Rooibos and... "Maple?" she distracted.  Mom, though was already on the phone, and Marinette took the opportunity to slip a few jam cookies into the pocket of her backpack.  They disappeared in a whisper of fingers and a hidden smile.

She finished her tea quickly, grabbing another biscuit for her guardian before taking the rest of the stairs down to the bakery's front door. No one was watching front of house, and Marinette quietly cleared her throat. Nothing to see here.  She took a fruit tart in one hand and surreptitiously sneaked an eclair into the other.  Her parents thought too much sugar was for you.  Marinette thought that parents who thought such things probably shouldn't own a bakery.

Throwing a wave to the kitchen window, where she supposed Dad was working, she bolted out the door and into the empty street.

* * *

She passed the eclair to Alya, who took it with a cry of, "Lifesaver!"  One hand held a short coffee that she brandished while saying, “Now this is a palette cleanser.” Alya was clearing the last dregs of her double espresso, when Nino swooped by and grabbed for the eclair.

"Hey!" Alya objected sharply, clasping a hand around his wrist before he could finish the ascent to his mouth.  The motion jarred him enough that the eclair tilted sharply and made a swift plunge to the ground.

All three gasped in terror.

Then sighed in delight as Adrien Agreste's long fingers plucked the pastry from certain doom.

"Bro!" Nino cheered, while Marinette smiled.

"Hey guys," Adrien greeted, twisting around Nino to offer the sweet back to Alya.

"Brooooo!" Nino booed, while Marinette smiled.

Alya only shook her head, "Now that everyone's touched it, I think I'll pass."  She laughed, tossing her cup into the trash as she headed towards their classroom. Marinette watched Adrien shrug and then his eyes turned to her like magnificent spring trees pulled by a western wind.

"Marinette?" Adrien offered, turning to the girl who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Uh, yes- that’s me!"

"...and would you like some eclair?" he clarified, laughing gently. His eyes were crinkling around the corners.

Nino caught her eye behind Adrien, making such sad puppy dog eyes that she grinned, an expression that turned slightly manic as she resumed looking up into the eyes of her crush.  

Oh my.  What?  

No!  The eclair!  Right.

"Tart!" she said in one clear syllable, shaking her head, hands waving.

"Not normally," he assured her, frowning at the pastry.

Alya made a second pass through the courtyard and swung her arm through Marinette's, pulling her flubbing friend away from eternal embarrassment.

"She means she already had a tart," the spectacled teen explained.

"Th-thanks, anyway!" Marinette said with a wave. They took the stairs at a sedate pace, giving her time to recover.

"Why are you thanking him?" Alya whispered.  "You brought that!"

"I'm damaged!" Marinette exhaled, hanging her head.

Alya snorted, "And not at all dramatic."

When Marinette giggled, Alya smirked and the two girls made their way arm and arm into English.  She took her seat, gently setting her backpack on the floor.  When she sat up straight, she saw Adrien sitting, half of an eclair hanging from his mouth.

Her hand shot out, grasping Alya's wrist.  Her best friend turned and saw what had captivated Marinette's attention.  Then with a grin she cleared her throat.

"So I see you're enjoying my breakfast, after all, Adrien."  The blond glanced up and had the good manners to look a little sheepish.

Nino, however, quickly rose to his defense, "Hey, he tried to give it back!"  Of course, the words were half lost as he talked around his own mouthful of bread.

"After you took it, you mean?" Alya demanded, her words a mixture of sweet heat. "I'll have you know Marinette brought that all the way from her house for me." Marinette blinked as both boys slowed their chewing to verify this.  Of course, she had brought the sweet treat, but the only thing that had stopped her from eating it was her own full stomach. Alya’s needs hadn’t quite been at the front of her thoughts.  Her face flamed as she caught Adrien's surprised stare, and she remained silent. Yes, such a good friend she was!

"Oh, I remember.  Your father's a baker, isn't he?" he asked, recalling parents' day from months before.  She blinked at him, knowing full well he had not been in the class at the time her father had been speaking.  How did he know?

"Y-yeah!" she smiled, and added, "That's right!"  It was possible Nino had told him at some point, and Marinette was just happy that some space in the perfect boy’s brain was devoted to remembering something about her.

"This is really delicious," he offered, holding up the last bites and still smiling.

"Yep!" she agreed.  The combination of sweet cream and silky chocolate was one of the reasons she had chosen it.

"Well," Alya sighed theatrically and crossed her arms over her chest. With a tilt of her head she pinned Nino under a stare that made him smirk.  "That settles it.  I guess you two will have to take us out to lunch today to make amends."

Adrien's mouth fell open.  Marinette saw because she was watching him, watching so intently that she could not see her own mouth doing the same.

Alya, no!, her fear whispered.

ALYA, YES!, her heart roared.

A meal.  A whole hour of lunch!  With Adrien!

She had gone to the movies with him before, what felt like months and months ago, but had ended up sitting between Alya and Nino after the two refused to stop talking during the show.  Besides, it had been in a dark theater and she had barely seen him.

Nino opened his mouth to refuse when their teacher entered the door and closed it behind her, signaling the end of their good-natured bickering.  Marinette's eyes flashed to Alya, who threw a thumb's up at her before primly tucking herself back into her seat.  She grinned and turned around in her chair.  Nino's shoulders were shaking, though with anger or humor, she couldn't tell.  And Adrien...

Adrien winked at her and then faced forward as if it were nothing, as if a rocket hadn't just flown its way through her heart and down to her fingertips and toes.  She watched the back of his head while her whole body tingled not sure if she wanted him to turn around or remain facing front.  He made the decision for her and dutifully paid attention to the lesson while Alya slid her tablet toward her.

"Right," she murmured.

* * *

By the time lunch arrived, Nino had mellowed to the idea of treating the girls, and his good cheer had bled over to Adrien, who offered to chip in as well.  Marinette was gathering her courage to suggest a nearby cafe when her mobile rang. 

Still buzzing from the idea of sharing a whole hour with the coolest boy on the planet, she pulled it out and answered immediately, "Hello!"

"Hi sweetheart, it's Dad."

"Hi Dad," she replied, turning her back to her friends for a measure of privacy.  "I'm so glad you called!  I need to tell you and mom that I was invited to lunch today with friends so I don't need her to make anything today."

"Oh… well, actually, I was calling to see if you might be able to give us a hand.  The late order finally came in, and it's double the usual size.  We could use an extra set of hands to get everything put away."

"Oh... I..."  She paused and glanced back to see the trio waiting for her. “Do you really need me? I mean, I only have a short break before I have to go back to class.” Dad sighed on the other end of the call. “I promise I’ll help a lot tonight with inventory and everything!” she rolled through in a rush.  Alya's expression slipped with concern and Marinette turned back around, sighing softly. Dad had not yet spoken.  She already knew what she had to do.  The bakery was everything to her parents, and really to her, too.  Literally, the ground beneath her feet- but why, today of all days?!

She opened her mouth to agree when a short tussle over the phone broke her concentration, and suddenly Mom's voice spoke out, "Marinette go have lunch with your friends.  We have this covered."

This time she did not hesitate, "Really?"

A quick laugh and, "Yes, but we will need your help tonight!  Now go!"

"Going!" she said with a laugh and hung up.  She turned back to her friends with a spring in her step.  Essay done!  Shipment good!  Lunch with friends, starting now!  What a great day!

"Everything OK?" Alya asked, and she shyly took her bag as Adrien passed it to her.

"Yeah, a big shipment came in," she explained as she slipped her bag over her shoulders without looking at him. "So it's good we're going out so I don’t slow them down." Alya nodded knowingly, a grin breaking out in her lips.

Bolstered by her mother's encouragement and Alya's quick thinking, Marinette glanced up at Adrien and smiled brightly, "There's a good Thai cafe near here if you guys are interested."  She blinked at him once and then turned to Nino, willing her warm face to cool.  "If you like Thai."

"Loooove Thai!" Nino crowed, waking backwards through the door.

"I like it," Adrien agreed.

"Me Thai!" Marinette tried.  "I- I mean.  Me, too."  She threw her face away from him and rolled her eyes.  Obviously she and Adrien were destined to be together, but it was going to be hard for him to see it if she couldn't speak more than a few seconds without putting her foot in her mouth.

"So what's your favorite dish?" he asked, still by her side, still looking down at her.  

Rah!  Had he seen her being weird?!

"Uh, rice noodles," she managed, her heart racing, "And, uh, there's a spicy fish head soup that's really delicious." But when she looked up at him, his face was blank, eyes wide.  

Oh. Oh no. 

Fish head.  

No, no, no- that was gross!  That was-

"Cool!" He said with a grin.  "I can't think of a lot of girls who would try something with a fish head floating in it." She flushed all over again.  It was already hot today, and she was wondering if she might faint. "Do you think they'll have it here?"

The cafe was open air and the teens sat inside and out of the sun while they ate.  Despite Adrien's curiosity, it was really too hot for the soup and Marinette had the pleasure of steering him toward a cooler entree.  That he ordered!  Alya and Nino made amends over the breakfast disaster (miracle!) and everyone was enjoying the refreshing breeze of an overhead fan while a radio played in the background.

Marinette ate noodles like a pro, showing the others how to use their chopsticks.  Adrien was the next best of the bunch, and she remembered he was also taking Chinese lessons.  Maybe they included culture in the classes?  Of course, he would be good at whatever he did.  He was so kind and polite, and his grades were always really good, if Nino's teasing could be believed. Adrien never bragged on himself. And he was sooo handsome! 

Marinette smiled at his grip and turned back to her chilled noodles.  It really was a perfect day.  Well, despite the small hiccup with Dad, but he would understand.  It didn't make sense for her to work all through lunch for such a small contribution.  Unloading a delivery never took a whole hour.  Even with a double load it wouldn't take that long.  Inventory always took longer, anyway.

The music in the background cut off, and Marinette reached for her mobile to send a quick message to her parents, thanking them for understanding. She was surprised to see she had a text from Mom already.

She inhaled sharply.

stay with Alya. do NOT come home!!!

She blinked once. Both hands gripped the edges of the phone tightly reading the words once and then twice more. They did not change. They were from Mom.

"Marinette?" Alya asked, and she looked up sharply.

"...lots of white at the scene.  Police are on their way, but they have yet to arrive."  Her eyes leapt to the corner where the radio was plugged in.  Their waiter was turning up the volume.  "A bakery near the edge of the 6th and 7th Arrondissements seems to be the starting point of the mayhem we're seeing play out."

Her heart sank even as her throat tightened. She scooted away from the table hurriedly, reaching for her bag.  As she stood she slung it over her shoulder, the others gaping at her.

"That's my house!" she said, pointing at the radio.  She did not wait for Alya's recognition, for Nino's confusion, for the way Adrien stood from his chair. Her feet were already carrying her out of the cafe at a dead run.

This is how it all started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun!!!!! ATTACK CLOSE TO HOME. I have this feeling that not a lot would get under Marinette's shell. I mean, even with Alya transformed she was pretty even-keeled. But she has a pretty close relationship with her parents. What will this mean for her and Adrien/CN? WHO KNOWS.
> 
> Please leave a comment ;D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being such an engaged audience! ⊂（♡⌂♡）⊃ *swoon*
> 
> Listened to a lot of this song for this chapter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgYnKu8RYAU

"Tikki!" Marinette gasped, alerting her kwami and trying not to draw unnecessary attention. She needed speed and movement.  The streets were too crowded, mazes to her muddled mind.  Everywhere her eyes flitted she saw strangers, most not glancing at her, but all it would take was a flash of red light and they would know.

She turned down a thin lane, not entirely sure where her feet carried her, but…!  There was a half-opened door nearby that she ducked into, not recognizing dark walls or the hanging towels dripping dry. With a quick slam shut, she gave the cry to her release her Miraculous and vent some of her frustration.

A breath later, Ladybug emerged from the closet and liberated her bandalore with a ferocious stretch of her arm.  Up to the rooftops she soared and, quickly getting her bearings, she twisted for home and flew once more.

 _do NOT come home!!_ Mom's message had read.  She had not even checked the time stamp, but it could not have been sent very long after she had spoken to her.  What had happened between?  How long had her parents been in danger? Or worse?? The unanswered question marks roped her stomach into knots.

Ladybug bent her knees and straightened them sharply as her whole body cut between buildings, rolling through the distant landing and springing up once more.  Her heart was pounding, painfully tight in her chest, not at all like the butterflies she normally felt when she was nervous around Adrien.

Oh, Adrien. And Alya and Nino… She had left them all without a word. They would be worried and maybe scared, and… For a clear moment her concern dissipated like a handful of mist. For just a moment, she cared not at all. They would understand. These were her _parents_. The ache in her chest tightened further.

This was torment.

She gasped as she landed on a tall chimney pot, dancing down another scale of them in quick descent before the bandalore flashed out once more.

It was another half minute before she reached her street.  Home was only steps away, but she was deterred by a field of cars blocking the avenue, crammed together worse than rush hour.  Police cars and private ones and even a tourist’s lorrie were mashed bumper to bumper.  Most of them looked like they were in good shape, untouched by whatever chaos the news had mentioned.

The "white" from the report was strewn about in violent patches.  She frowned and tried to steady her breathing as she leapt to ground level. Then she took off sprinting again, only chancing close enough to the white mess to see it for what it was.  Familiar and frightening.

Flour. Globs and sprays of ordinary-looking flour. She did not dare touch it to make certain, unsure of what the Akuma could have done to it, but her mind was decided.

Confused and growing more tense by the minute, she shot forward, leaping over the heads of some milling pedestrians.  She vaulted over the police barricade and into the familiar crossroads in front of her home. The Bakery’s door was closed, but its windows and signs were untouched. It looked like someone had simply gone to lunch.

Except the flour was everywhere here, spilling through the street like the remnants of a snowball fight on the hottest spring day she could remember. She spun once and only once, trying to find some sign of her parents when the Akuma attacked. The first struck her shoulder, smacking into it hard and thrusting her into a half spin. The second attack she was ready for, using the sudden shift in momentum to launch her accessory at the onslaught, batting it away. She watched it explode against the neighbor’s building, and a cloud of powdery fine granulate slowly sprinkled its way to the ground.

Eyes wide, she twisted to look at her shoulder. Whatever had hit her had not exploded, but was stuck there, and rising like yeasty dough, slowly expanding up to her arm and neck.

“Eeeyahk!” she shouted, grasping at it. The sticky mess unwillingly broke apart, most smacked to the ground, some still clinging to her fingers and back.

“I slave all day and you throw my work on the ground!” a familiar voice growled. Ladybug’s blue eyes snapped up to the newcomer, emerging through the flour cloud with a confident tromp, not a single hindrance to his vision.

The adrenaline that had fed her during her run spiked, a sharp inhale sucked in through her nose.

His gait was as familiar as the mustache on his face, but the rest of him was a complete stranger- a monster.

The first tears spilled over her mask.

 _Dad_.

“I just want to make pastries in peace!” he bellowed, and Ladybug winced, knowing- _knowing_ that he could not know it was Marinette beneath the mask, but the words were hitting a little too close to home. The same man who woke hours before the sun and went to bed straight after dinner. “So now Kingpin will take your Miraculous and have no more interruptions!” If it was not the menace in his voice it was the sneer on his face that broke through her sorrow. Marinette could be sad later. Ladybug had a job to do.

From the deep pockets of his old white apron, now wrapped around his body in a sick mockery of her dad, he pulled a black rolling pin. His arms were still so big they could crush a car, and when he pulled the pin back like a cricket bat, Ladybug dipped into a stance ready to dodge.

She flipped out of the jagged path of another ball of dough, this one big enough for two baguettes, and sprang from her hands stiffly back into an aerial, her legs nimbly splitting to dodge a fourth attack. Each exploded as they hit cars, the streets, the wall of her house, but she did not give them her attention. Her shoulder was too stiff, she realized, as she landed. The first attack was still trying to swallow her up. More slowly, but still expanding. What would happen if she couldn’t finish the fight, reverse the effects, before it covered her face and mouth and nose?

Shuddering, she spun out of the way of the next lobbed attack and reached for the lacquered shell at her back. Whirling it quickly into a shield, she ran forward while Kingpin began dancing away. The Akuma was in the rolling pin, it had to be. She only had to get him to release it for a few seconds to make everything right. To save him. To find Mom.

He turned towards the growing audience of spectators- always! Why with the spectators?!- and raised the rolling pin as if he might brandish it at _them_ when the bandalore’s cord whipped out and caught his wrist. He pulled at it once, then glanced up and saw he was caught. Turning back to glare at Ladybug, she grinned at him. Kingpin smirked, and she quickly lost her humor, looking for something to anchor the tool. He heaved his arm before she found it, slinging her into the air like a doll, as easily as he had tossed her into the air as a child. She twisted her body, but everything was happening too quickly.

Then the whip loosed from his arm and she felt it retracting and with a sudden, “Oof!” she landed. But it was easy and soft. Well, not exactly soft, but not cobblestone-hard, either. She blinked a few times and looked up as Chat Noir set her down on the ground.

“Dough nut worry, my lady. Thankfully for you, I have the reflexes of a cat.”

And she was worried enough and grateful enough that she smiled at his arrival without begrudging his pun, “Yeah, nice delivery, Chat,” even as she slipped his lingering arm off of her shoulders.

“Well, you looked like you were in a jam, so- ack!”

Both split apart as Kingpin launched another attack at them, smacking another wad of dough their way.

“Don’t let it touch you!” she warned, rolling into her landing and sliding the rest of the distance. Chat Noir rebounded off of the building across from her house and flipped back high into the air, his staff extending to Kingpin in such a quick thrust that Dad was knocked back several steps. Ladybug gasped.

“Be gentle with him!!” she cried, running forward.

“Don’t let him touch you, but be gentle?” Chat asked, tilting his toward her with a curious glance. “Shall I wait for you to make up your mind on which stance we are taking while he slowly wins the day, Buginette?”

She winced and diverted, “Just go for the rolling pin!” Her feet were still sprinting back towards Dad while he was climbing to his feet. Her shield at full speed spin, she descended toward him. She could see Chat running on all fours along the ground, giving him two targets. Surely he couldn’t attack two at once with only one rolling pin? She had nearly landed when a lump of dough exploded against her shield, clouding her vision and her landing.

It was less of a landing than a fumbled collision. She stumbled over the ground and her knees hit with such a jarring motion that she nearly face planted. Before she could completely keel, someone snagged her wrist tightly, jerking her upright. It was Kingpin who had her, squeezing her wrist too hard and too tight as he pulled, but she couldn’t see anything…! He was pulling her closer, and she had a moment of panic where she imagined someone grabbing for her earrings and shrieked.

“Ladybug!” Chat shouted with concern, much closer than she had imagined. A scramble of arms and legs cut through the cloud and with a masculine, “Oof!” her arm was released. She jerked it to her side, only to find resistance weighing it down. When she pulled at it again, fingers curled around her own, gentle this time, familiar in their length and grip.

“Chat Noir?” she asked, blinking against the hazy cloud.

She grimaced and lifted her wrist to her eyes, seeing that her teammate was bound to her by some of the dough, locking their arms.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, lady, you only kneaded,” and his fingers dipped more firmly, rolling against her palm, “to ask.”

“You are the one holding me,” she corrected him, trying to study the dough.

“So I am,” he agreed without a hint of displeasure. She rolled her eyes. “Tuck your fingers down, my dear one,” he instructed. Without hesitating she tucked her fingers and her head as his wrist tensed against hers. A quick rhythm beat against the back of her arm as an orchestrated breeze blew away the rest of the particulate and Ladybug saw that his quick, clearheaded thinking had cleared their vision. Chat dropped his staff back to his side, smirking at her. She smiled her approval then frowned in realization. He had his good arm, but her dominant hand was neatly trussed against his left.

Chat was studying the situation, completely satisfied with their predicament, and he grinned when she caught his eye. “Well, it looks like our work here is done,” he cheerfully announced, dropping his hands behind his head, pulling Ladybug along with delight. “I think this Akuma can stay, don’t you?”

“I think not,” she snapped as her head cleared. Even if Chat wanted to flirt and play, her dad was still in trouble. She cut her eyes back to the thrall to see he was running toward them, ready to clobber one (or both!) with the pin.

Ladybug gasped as she spun her back against Chat’s. His free hand was already waiting, and it clasped her loose fingers as she sought support. Then he twisted them both out of the way of the approaching villain, releasing her just in time for her to roll off of his back and find her footing once more. They both ducked down as she kicked a foot out to trip the Kingpin, who jumped far more nimbly than Dad ever could have managed. Airborn, though, Kingpin could not avoid Chat Noir’s briskly extended leg, which caught him hard in the gut. Chat winced for his leg and Ladybug winced for her father as the man tumbled back to the street, landing hard.

The rolling pin skittered away, skipping a few steps from his doughy fingers before it clattered to a stop.

Aware of the dough creeping up her neck, Ladybug, clenched her partner’s fingers, but before she could take a step, he scooped her up and took off at a dead run. Bounding over the downed victim, Chat twisted them through a spiral that almost left her dizzy before they landed and he slowly set her on the ground. She swayed, her fingers still gripping his, as she noted he had put them between the thrall and the rolling pin, facing Dad.

Ladybug reached back and grabbed the loose rolling pin before righting herself. All the while her partner kept an eye on the man slowly rising to his feet, but made no move to engage him. Ladybug felt a moment of gratitude that he was so willing to go along with her intention to treat him gently. With a deep breath, not quite ready to be relieved, she kept a tight grip on her end of the rolling pin and extended the other handle to Chat.

Without a word he lifted his knee and they brought both ends of the stiff tool down, breaking it in half. It landed with a double-thud, and a small black butterfly crawled free from the end before taking to the air.

“Watch your fingers,” she warned Chat before she reached to her backside for her bandalore. He grinned at her, eyebrows waggling, but kept from taking advantage. His arm was practically limp, but she could feel his eyes on her, as he made way for her to trap the small Akuma. That’s right. He’d never seen it this close, had he? Even with the extra weight, the net lashed out speedily and caught the wriggling creature before it could get too far away. She clapped the contraption closed over it and waited only a second before opening it once more.

A beautiful, silvery white butterfly emerged with a graceful shudder of its wings. With a heavy sigh she watched it float away.

“Bye bye, little butterfly,” Chat Noir said in a high imitation of her voice.

She smiled and held up the glowing white net overhead, and with a shout of, “Miraculous!” a wash of crimson light poured out of her transformed bandalore to cover the square. As the flour disappeared and Dad sat up, Ladybug tried to clasp her hands to her chest in relief, but found that weight was still holding her back. Startled, she glanced down and saw that Chat was still holding her, even as he watched the scene tidy itself.

Rolling her eyes, she unclasped his fingers from hers, dropping his hand as he suddenly grinned at her.

“Can’t blame a cat for trying…” he grinned, then glanced away as her power ensured everything continued righting itself. “All in a day’s work! It has been so long since there was an attack I was starting to wonder if it was over.” Ladybug followed his eyes to see Nino and Alya edging their way to the front of the cheering crowd. Alya’s arm was already extended, her mobile horizontal.

The buildings were still neatly rearranging the bits of brick that had blown off when Ladybug saw Mom appear. Out of the bakery’s front door, where who knows what had delayed her. She jogged down the steps and over to her husband, helping him stand slowly. Dad looked around in confusion for a moment before Mom threw her arms around him. He seemed startled but wrapped her up in his embrace a half second later, smiling as he did so.

Ladybug’s heart lurched at the sight of them picking up their lives as if nothing had happened. But it could have. It could have all gone terribly wrong. What if someone had _died_?  That particular thought was too much.  She brushed her clean shoulder, remembering the grasping growth their and thought that it could have easily been Mom or Alya in the attack.

All of her friends had been attacked at some point. Now her parents? It was only a matter of time before…

Adrien.

And what would the world be like if she had to see his beautiful smile warped into something ugly and unkind?

How much longer would it be before Hawkmoth had a hold of their Miraculous? How long before her own miraculous luck ran out? They would eventually grow tired, make a mistake. Life was becoming busier, not slower… And what would happen when they lost their powers, lost the ability to cleanse the Akuma? What would happen if Hawkmoth knew who they were?

“It’s not over,” she responded suddenly, sharply. She cut her eyes toward Chat, who was watching her with a surprised expression. “Can you meet soon?” she asked.

“Like a date?” he giggled.

“If you’ll be there, then think whatever you want.” She turned back to her parents, seeing them separate as they turned back to the bakery. The police were approaching now that the danger was over. Ladybug frowned and affirmed, “I’ll contact you soon.”

Then she ripped herself away from the scene, free of dough and free to soar to privacy.

Only a few moments later, Marinette emerged from the opposite side of the bakery, frantically pushing her way through the crowd. She did not have to fake her rising emotion as she climbed her way over the police barricade, and then past the police themselves, shouting, “Those are my parents!” She ducked between two startled officers as her street converged on the square.

She leaped forward, crying, “Mom! Dad!”

Both of her parents turned to see her, with a dual cry of, “Marinette!”

And as she leaped into their arms, relieved with her fulfilled promise to make everything OK, and finally let herself cry, she couldn’t help but remember her words to Chat Noir.

It wasn’t over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ain’t calling it a yo-yo ಠ_ಠ
> 
>  
> 
> Please leave a comment ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)


	3. Chapter 3

Adrien was not surprised to see Marinette absent from class the next day. Disappointed, but not surprised.

He had spent most of the previous evening scrolling through pictures on the Ladyblog. Alya’s shots had confirmed what he had been nearly certain of. It had been Marinette’s family in the attack, after all. The way she had dashed out of the cafe during their lunch, like it was the only way to keep her feet from lighting on fire, he could only imagine what she was going through today.

After scrolling through the different angles of Alya’s perspective, wondering how she always managed to get his bad side, he had spent another few hours waiting for Ladybug to call. The result had been terribly quiet.

Something about her had been off during the fight. Oh, their teamwork had been great, better than ever. No small part of the credit he assumed as his own, his adaptability letting her take the lead when inspiration came to her. They both relied on her luck. Yet, while they had fought the Kingpin, not even one of their tougher fights, she had been tense and agitated, less tolerant of his reaching out to her.

It only a smarted a little, as long as he thought about their overall mission, saving people from akuma attacks. But if she was going to be the responsible one, he could goof off a little bit, right? Besides, his Lady could have thrown harsher reactions at him than a temperamental word or the rolling of her eyes and he would still adore her. He _did_ still adore her. It did not mean that he was not worried about her.

Adrien had wrestled with the doubt and concern through his silent vigil, before finally pushing emotion aside in favor of sleep. Basically, he had passed out.

Today, most of the rest of his classmates were normal, even with news of the attack circulating. Marinette’s family was not the first life to be touched by an Akuma, and it likely would not be the last. So while Alya responded to the teachers questions between texting her friend and while Nathanael asked if she was OK, few others made comment.

Adrien made it through the rest of the day dodging Chloe’s amorous advances while Nino tried to distract him with a new meme out of Greece. It was partly interesting, but as long as they had been best friends, he had never developed Nino’s particular sense of humor. His thoughts continuously turned back to Ladybug and her sharpness. Was he overreacting?

The possibility was still, well, _bugging_ him by the time he reached home, but there was little time to dwell it on it. When he stepped out of the car, Nathalie was waiting for him with a communique from his father to come directly to his office. Why his father thought he needed Nathalie as a mediator for such simple exchanges, he wondered with silent exasperation, he did not understand. His brief, familiar annoyance did not hinder him from walking straight to the office as summoned.

“I’ll be out of the country for a few weeks starting tomorrow,” father said by way of greeting, eyes trained on the swishing lines his stylus was making.

Adrien felt a flash of irritation, and said, “You’ve only just _returned_.”

Without looking up, his father continued, “This tour has been planned since last year. The line needs the momentum from Fashion Week to continue expansion of the brand.”

Adrien resisted the urge to frown, his face stony. Fashion Week had been almost three full months ago. Whatever reason his father had for leaving the country seemed to have less and less to do with work and more and more with being out of the house.

“Nathalie will be attending with me. George will attend to your needs in the mean time.”

“The Gorilla?,” Adrien questioned, finally able to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “He doesn’t do anything but drive.”

“ _George_ has the capability to buy groceries, sign any notices you might need from the college…” The words were left hanging, and Adrien tried to stifle his disappointment. He knew that whatever the excuse, his father needed to work. Even if he was leaving, he had seen to Adrien’s needs for the foreseeable future. At least his absence would make any communication with Ladybug easier.

“Good luck on the tour,” he offered and turned for the door, ready to unload his bag and unload his heart.

“Adrien,” his father called, and he turned back with a spark of hope.

“Your sessions will continue as scheduled. Please continue to put in good work.”

“Right,” he said and left the room to finally unleash his breath.

He dutifully attended the shoot scheduled for that very afternoon, maintaining composure through the sweltering afternoon heat. Pictures, poses, retouched makeup to cover up sweat and smudges left in the wake of sunglasses. He was glad that the theme had been more serious, otherwise he was not sure he could have managed smile after fake smile when his mind was already so tumultuous.

“Excellent work!” the photographer gushed as she began scrolling through her roll of pictures. Adrien waved as he departed for home, George dutifully waiting to chauffeur.

He had two physics assignments due at the start of next week and Chinese practice, but he spent the evening scrolling through a new batch of photographs from Alya. Most of the shots captured their backs as they spoke. The rest of the battle. The street before and after the attack.

There was only one video- when Ladybug had finally zoomed away, leaving him watching her with a curious expression on his face. She still had not called.

“Am I going crazy, Plagg?” he asked, closing the browser while his kwami burrowed his way happily through a smelly pile of gorgonzola.

“Chat Noir has always been a little crazy…” the kwami deferred, and Adrien frowned at him, “buuu~uut, I think you have a lot on your plate, too. Not the good kind of things on your plate- Roquefort, Brie, Roblochon, _Camembert_!”

“That’s very helpful. Thanks.”

Plagg took another mouthful almost the size of his head before leaping up to Adrien’s shoulder. His next words were particularly… aromatic.

“All I’m saying is to cut yourself some slack. You’re doing everything you can.”

“I… Yeah, thanks, Plagg.”

The second day after the attack Marinette was still not in class.

He felt her absence conspicuously, mostly in the lack of tittering giggles that normally accompanied her and Alya. There was no one to slow Chloe from riding roughshod over the rest of the class, either, and by the end of the day he was entirely ready to leave the place he normally considered a sanctuary.

“Alya,” Mrs. Bustier called while the others packed their bags. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s teachers have compiled the homework that we have not been able to email her. Would you be willing to take it by her house this afternoon? We don’t want her to fall too far behind.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I have to go straight home this afternoon to babysit my siblings. Maybe Adrien could do it?” she offered.

He blinked and glanced back at her, only to see her sincere, pleading expression. Without much recourse he turned back to their teacher and nodded.

“Sure, I can do it.” There was his session this afternoon, piggybacking off of yesterday’s, but he could afford a few extra minutes. He wanted to see Marinette himself, too. They were not close, but at least if he could make sure she was all right, it would be one less worry on his crowded mind.

“It would probably make her feel better to see you,” Nino said casually as he stood from his seat.  
  
Adrien opened his mouth to ask what he meant when Alya leaned forward and sharply poked their friend through the cap on his head.

Bemused, he hardly saw Chloe squeeze her way into the space between his arm and Marinette’s desk, but he certainly felt the hands that clutched at him as she announced, “I was going to ask you if you want to get an espresso this afternoon, too, Adrien instead of playing delivery boy!” When he looked down at her too close face, her big blue eyes were batting lashes at him.

“Uh, I don’t drink coffee in the afternoon, but maybe some other time, Chloe,” he offered vaguely.

She pouted, but didn’t fight when he liberated his arm made his way to gather the rest of Marinette’s assignments. There were plenty of online materials she would have access to, but he realized as he glanced over their handouts that she had not been present to take her own notes. As he hurried out to the waiting limousine, he made a promise to himself that he would email copies of his own to her.

After giving her address to George, helpfully supplied by Alya via text, he allowed his mind a few moments of wandering freedom, where they inevitably turned to his masked partner. She had said she wanted to meet, hadn’t she? Why hadn’t she called? She wasn’t that much older than him, he thought- could she still have been in school? Or was she in university, with strange hours and… No, that seemed unlikely after the history book incident.

She had said he could think of their meeting as a date if he wanted, and oh did he want, but the curtness in her tone, her utter lack of humor at his suggestion shot down the idea more quickly than his own doubts might have.

His Lady had never acted that way before, something the particular attack had horribly upset her. It was Marinette’s father, who had been attacked, and-

His eyes widened, turned towards the outside as they meandered through the city, but he did not see the Parisian landscape.

Of course!

How had he not made the connection before now?

Ladybug _knew_ Marinette. She must have known her personally. There had been the attack where Nathanael had been targeted. Marinette had intervened for Ladybug, but as far as he knew that had been there only connection.

He lifted his hand to rub his forehead and found that the topmost page of Marinette’s thing stack of handouts had stuck to his hand. Peeling the paper away, he wiped his hand on his jeans and wondered if she really knew his classmate. And did that mean Marinette _knew_ her? His heart thundered in his chest at the thought.

It would only take one question and then Marinette would, if she could get the words out, be able to tell him that they were only one link apart. And maybe…!

Adrien stopped, wrangling back his enthusiasm before it could fly away from him. Ladybug had already asked him not to pry into her secret identity. Asking Marinette, who was already terribly shy and liable to crack under pressure, would be unfair. He sighed as they pulled to a stop in front of the now-familiar bakery. Well, at least the front of it was familiar.

“Circle a few times,” he instructed. “I won’t be but a minute or two.”

George nodded and Adrien eased out of the car, trying to smooth out the wrinkled papers. The “open” sign was facing out. Up the step, he reached for the black and gold door, wondering what he would find within. The thought brought him up short and he stopped.

Marinette’s father had been through a trauma and, if indirectly, she had been through a trauma. Already she had missed two days of school. Why did he think that everything would be normal?

Slightly more nervous, he pulled at the door and stuck his head in. There were a few people inside milling through the numerous racks of pastries. He blinked as he joined their ranks. It looked like a normal bakery, maybe a little cuter, with many shades of pink and purple in the decor.

Behind the counter, Marinette herself was attending the cash register, fingers dancing nimbly over its keys. She smiled brightly and easily for the woman she was speaking to. As her customer left, another stepped in line and Marinette shifted her attention to the next order without seeing him.

It was… unexpected… To see her smiling so easily, looking so well. Two days ago, she had nearly come undone, flying from the restaurant near tears, and he had hung around just long enough to take care of the bill while Alya and Nino went to get a cab.

“ _Just get a taxi. Finding Marinette is more important. Don’t worry about waiting for me,_ ” he had urged them, and Alya, ever Marinette’s champion, had done just that. The moment had left him free to transform into Chat Noir and help take down the Akuma.

After the battle, he had remained just long enough to see his classmate clinging to her parents, looking as though she had run the whole way from the cafe. How different she seemed now, outside of class and free from terror.

Here, she just… _fit_. He wondered for a moment if she was a piece cut for a puzzle or if the environment had grown up around her.

Adrien took a moment to admire the ease and confidence with which she managed the customers, the way her whole face lit up when she smiled, the easy roll of her shoulders as she held her own in conversation. After a moment, he freed himself to glance through the selections. He helped himself to a small sack full of gougeres, while Plagg began to hum with delight, hidden somewhere near his shoulder.

When the last customer in front of him stepped away with their purchases, he was surprised to see Marinette smiling at him quite normally. At him. Her expression was easy and held none of the contortion it usually jumped to when she looked at him. Her comfort, the intelligibly light atmosphere of the bakery, lightened his own heart. He felt like a piece of the puzzle.

“Hi Marinette,” he greeted, placing the brown bag on the counter between them.

The spell broke and suddenly she shook her head, gaping at him with a much more familiar countenance. Adrien grinned. Even this was familiar. Familiar was good.

“A-Adrien!” she responded. “What are you doing here?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. You cannot convince me that episode 14 was created for any other reason than giving POWER TO THE SHIPPERS. Dang, it was awesome. 1b. I'm not great at writing Adrien, but it will just take practice. (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و
> 
> 2\. Graduate school resumed today. I’m taking 17 hours in addition to research projects, a full-time clinical experience, my life-long goal of doing a single pull up, and mundane things like eating and sleeping. Updates will come more slowly. Apologies in advance.
> 
> 3\. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider sharing it with your friends, or leaving a comment. Since this is fandom we sometimes tell ourselves that these things are free, and they are, but the 2 reasons I write are a) to tell a story that needs telling and b) to engage with other fans! Merci beaucoup ♡＾▽＾♡


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette has a much harder time of things than anyone else... Picks up immediately after the battle.

Marinette lifted her eyes enough from Mom’s quivering shoulder to see Chat Noir leaping away from the fight without a backwards glance for her. His hasty departure didn’t bother her. He had hovered long enough after the battle. He had come in the first place. Her family was safe.

Still, she knew the line in his back, the arc of his shoulders. Instinct silently reminded her that she knew them as well as she had known he would catch her when she rolled over his back minutes earlier.

Chat Noir would wait for her call. He would hear her out.

Before that, though…

Dad led Mom and her into the house after they finished talking to the police, none of the questions too probing. Ladybug and Chat Noir were living legends at this point, and even the Police were grateful for the inexplicable solutions to their inexplicable problems.

How to get on with your life after being attacked my a mystical black butterfly, or the man who unleashed the creature, was one such turn-your-head-the-other-way situations.

Marinette wondered if her father was going to start crying at each step, eying him with open concern, a hand at his back. Someone else had been in his head, whispering and cajoling, egging him on to do things he would never have done. Well, sort of. The cakes had been pretty artful, actually…

She shook her head while Mom's expression was of decidedly sterner stuff. Storm-grey eyes watched her husband with concern but without the tinge of manic energy of Marinette’s own vigil.

Inside, they closed the door, left the “closed” sign face outward and Mom’s voice called, “Marinette, stay here for a minute, dear.”  She held back, hands at her sides as Mom ushered her quiet husband upstairs.

When she came back downstairs she cleared a path and wrapped Marinette up in a hug that she sank into. “He’s going to be all right, sweetheart. Everyone else who has gone through this has been fine. He’ll be fine.”

She nodded, but there was no trust in her to allow her voice out. Would it crack or break altogether? So she kept silent, dropping her head on Mom’s shoulder.

All too soon, the urgency she had felt for an hour came back, and she pulled away, “Mom, what _happened_?”

Mom pulled her around to the waiting stool behind the counter and sat on it. Marinette had not sat on her mother’s lap for years, but she did so willingly as Mom’s arms wrapped around her waist. She waited a moment, her eyes slowly skipping left and right as she gathered her thoughts, then she frowned and leveled a sagacious look up at her daughter.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come home?” she wondered.

“Heh,” Marinette chuffed, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Well, you also told me to stay with Alya, which is _kind_ of like asking me to be in the middle of danger. You know how she can’t stay away if Ladybug’s around.” To Mom’s credit, she only nodded and rested her forehead against her daughter’s shoulder.

“Darling, please be more careful in the future,” she requested mildly.

Marinette smiled at her, knowing she would never be able to honor the promise truthfully. She also knew she was in less danger than most of the people of Paris, simply due to her ability to fight _back_.

“That’s a hard thing to do when your family is in trouble,” she said instead, slipping past the request the way Ladybug might have darted past one of Chat's flirtations.  It felt familiar, and maybe a little dishonest, but Mom laughed.

It was a familiar puff of air against her arm and then she sat up straight, “Fair enough. It’s much better to have a daughter who cares than one who doesn’t.”

Marinette’s smile tumbled into a frown, and she quickly pressed her response, “I will always, _always_ care, Mom.”

Mom smiled softly and nodded.  Marinette wanted to press her, to assure her of her feeling, but Mom asked, “How was lunch, dear?”

Marinette blinked, “What?” Images of a comfortable cafe and its cool breeze snapped into her mind.  Adrien's smiling eyes waited at the edges.  She slipped to her feet quickly, “What, no! Mom. No way."  The cafe blended quickly into an Akuma and a dark rolling pin.  "Tell me what happened with Dad!” Instead of trying to dissemble, Mom frowned and shrugged her shoulders, her eyes turning toward the back room.

“I didn’t see most of it, honestly…” That was a mixed blessing. “We got off the phone with you and went back to finishing the inventory. By the time the deliverers unloaded everything back there, your Dad wasn’t in the best mood, but he was working up a storm. A few minutes after they left he turned into that… thing.” Mom frowned at the remembrance of it, one hand poised beneath her chin.

Marinette watched the uncertainty move through her mother and tried not to sag under the misery trying to crawl out her chest. Dad in a bad mood?  It was so unusual, that it had to be her fault completely. Hawkmoth targeted people’s negative emotions, and she had ricocheted her father into the villain's clandestine path with a flippant… a crush on a _boy_. No, her mind wailed, seeking absolution and justification, what she felt for Adrien was not just a crush… but she knew it was the truth.

Mom suddenly sat up straight, something like a smile on her face, “I don’t know how it happened, but it’s not the first time something like this has happened in the city. Many people have experienced this now, haven’t they?” It was a rhetorical question, and Marinette held her peace. “So I don’t blame Dad-” _You should blame_ me, “but he _changed_. Then he threw some dough at me, which sounds strange, I know, but that’s what happened… it made it a little hard to move, then he just went on that rampage.  The dough at her shoulder had slowly crept its way over her like it might suffocate her, and Marinette tried not to weep at the mental image of her mother, gasping for air. 

“Are you OK now?” she asked quietly, grabbing for a hand that Mom quickly gave.

“Oh, of course, darling, I feel fine,” Mom said firmly.  Marinette was not sure. Mom was… Mom. She was not young like Alya or Nino. What if she didn’t bounce back?

“You don’t want to call the doctor or something?”

"No, I don't think that's necessary.  You know that Ladybug girl came and set things right.”

“Yeah... and Chat Noir,” Marinette added softly, remembering her partner with a swell of gratitude.

“Oh yes, him, too. But you know, everyone in Paris wears black. Red stands out so much more.”

Marinette half-smiled, but the expression faded before Mom had even finished speaking.

This was her fault. If she had not been so focused on herself and what she could get out of the moment… This was just like the cake and everything that had happened with Chronogirl. Her parents had asked for her help and she had put her own selfishness first.

“Darling, we’re OK now,” Mom interjected, and she looked up in time to see her mother's fingers reaching for her face.  Their soft familiar touch pulled at the frown dragging her lips down. “It’s OK to feel sad, but I want you to really understand that we’re OK.”

“We don’t know that Mom,” she finally replied. “What if Dad…”

“Uh uh. Dad is strong. He’s going to be fine. I know your father. I know _my husband_. He’ll be OK. Besides, all of those other people who were transformed, weren’t they OK afterwards? I’m one hundred percent certain the news would have said something salacious if they weren’t. You, my precious one, don’t have to worry anymore.” Mom sighed suddenly and swooped forward to pull her into another hug, “I’m just glad _you’re_ OK.”

Something inside her chipped, a fracture running out of her spirit and her heart and up into her rigid arms.  She was not OK.  Not by a long shot.  Yet she was more OK than if Mom or Dad suddenly found out how much to blame she was. “We’re okay, my darling.” Marinette nodded silently while her throat tried to collapse in on itself. Hugging back was as much an admission of guilt as an acceptance of comfort.

They could not know. She could not take the condemnation, their disappointment in her, if they knew she was the one who had brought the attack on them, who had not done everything she could to prevent it entirely.

And Hawkmoth would keep coming. He would always be after her and Chat until he had the Miraculous. He could _never_ have them. What would happen if Tikki was suddenly as evil as her father had been? With her power? With her capabilities? Until they resolved the threat, everyone around them would be in danger.  So many of her friends had already been attacked.  Now her family?

Her luck was finite.

It was touch and go, whether she might start crying, but a mundane topic helped her take another deep breath and relax. She was going to need to be stronger in the future than she had ever been before. Starting now.

“You said you needed help in the store today, right?” she asked, once her throat had loosened to a functional measure. She pulled away from Mom and smiled at her. “I’m not going back to school today. Let me help, okay?”

“Ah, sure. That’s a good idea. It’ll give us something to do while Dad naps. He’ll be anxious to get back to work after he’s rested a bit. At least the delivery finally came in… Speaking of which, we had to store some of the stock in your room. I hope you don’t mind.”

Managing a genuine smile, she shook her head, “Not at all, Mama. I’m here to help.” _Now I am, anyway_.

“You are such a good girl. Let me get the clipboard and we can get down to business.”

It was how she spent the rest of the day home from school, texting Alya that she would not be in tomorrow, either. In the kitchen, boxes lined the walls, stuffed with leavening, sugar, an entire case of liquid food coloring and another with gel-based and case after case of flour. The flour- wheat, bread, cake, white, filled almost every free space in the kitchen. It had taken less than fifteen minutes of searching and shifting boxes to realize how much help they had needed. Mom had said go to lunch, but in the end Marinette sided with Dad’s view of things.

The memory of Thai food sat cold in her stomach, and she could barely remember what had made the need to go out seem so urgent. Flashes of Adrien’s smile still warmed her, but they were cooled quickly by the equally vivid recall of Kingpin’s shouting.

With both her and Mom working, they completed the inventory by supper. The sun had set nearly an hour before, and when Mom set the clipboard down, Marinette allowed herself to sag against a case of vinegar, her doffed feet dropping onto the sofa. Between the adrenaline, the fight, and the afternoon’s work she was exhausted, but she felt little relief in the effort. Responsibility was much heavier than a box of flour.

The only thing that made her feel better was the sight of her father coming out of her parents bedroom, stifling a small yawn. His face brightened into a smile as she and Mom moved into his line of vision.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked warmly, his hand dropping from his head almost sheepishly.  Marinette laughed sudden and bright, throwing herself at him, only to be swept up into a hug. Her papa’s arms were strong enough, it seemed, to carry her and all of her terrible guilt.

They ordered takeaway Chinese food from the restaurant Mom and Dad had met at almost twenty years before. Even maneuvering around the boxes, dinner was light- soup dumplings, scallion pancakes, and zha jiang mian, with Dad complimenting, “Heavy on the dough! Just how I like it!” They ate with easy laughter and smiles, maybe a little desperate for relief after the day’s events. Marinette tried not to think about it too much. She would be thinking plenty soon enough.

After a round of movies that Marinette had never heard of, grainy, old things with washed out colors that were filmed before HD (her parents loved them so she kept her opinion silent), she finally felt comfortable retiring to her room as Mom and Dad said goodnight. It was a bit of a hassle to navigate the inventory, as tired as she was. She had never been particularly graceful.

When she crawled up to her bed, collapsing atthe ladder’s last rung, Tikki was already there, reclining against the large, plush cat tucked into the corner. The small kwami seemed hardly tired at all, and Marinette smiled half-heartedly.

What would happen if Hawkmoth _did_ ever get his evil pincers on the sweet, little creature? Marinette had let down her parents today, of all people… Was Tikki next?

Would her kwarmi be able to take care of herself without someone to assume the mantle of Ladybug? Sometimes the sprite seemed only a year or two older than Marinette, playful and generous and, always, always loving. At other times, she seemed much older. Despite her smooth features, Marinette knew Tikki was ancient.  Older than 5,000 years was pretty old by human standards, but how long did kwami live? And did their age give them some kind of supernatural wisdom, some guard against evil?  Something that would protect them against Hawkmoth? Or was Marinette and her will the only thing standing between danger and her guardian? Her friend…

“Are you all right, Marinette?” the person in question asked.

“Mmm…” she answered noncommittally. “Just thinking, Tikki.”  There was no reason to burden her with what she had brought on herself today.

Silence followed as the words floated between them. Everything had been so rushrushrush today, from the moment she had left home until tucking herself into her blankets.

“You did well today,” the soft voice offered quietly. “You moved so fast to the fight, and you didn’t even use the Lucky Charm!” Marinette smiled gently at the reminder, not sure how it mattered, but Tikki continued, “That means you’re really becoming more in tune with your powers.”

“Don’t you mean _your_ powers, Tikki?” she half-teased, but the response was more laughter around a soft shrug. Marinette smiled, at once comforted and distressed. If they were becoming more and more linked, it was even more imperative that she stop fooling around and start doing everything she could to protect those important to her. Tikki. Mom and Dad. Adrien…

“Ugh,” she groaned at the remembrance of him.

Adrien, sweet and perfect, who had taken her suggestion for lunch… Who had readily admitted he had taken half of the eclair meant for Alya. He wasn’t loud or boisterous or rude or egotistical.  He wasn't a fighter or able to protect himself the way she could, and if she continued to hang onto him...

He was just himself. Kind and beautiful and…

“Marinette,” Tikki gasped.

She hurriedly wiped her cheeks, then her nose and curled more tightly to her knees, “Tikki.” The word was a hiccup. “I have to let him go."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. WHAT? 
> 
> 2\. If you think Tom and Sabine aren’t making sweet, sweet love, you’re doing it wrong (and that was a pun Chat Noir would j’adore).  
> 3\. Next chapter, more Adrien!  
> 4\. Please leave a comment and let me know what you liked or didn't ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to this song a lot for this chapter:
> 
> Also, while your friendly neighborhood author is _adoring_ the new episodes, she has no drive to try and wrap this story around the canon. Enjoy both for what they are :) ([episode 15](http://mlsubbing.tumblr.com/), SLAY ME).

The next morning her mouth was a bog of stench, her tongue an unruly root. Both served better than her crusted eyes, glued shut from crying or exhaustion one. After last night’s bout she felt immeasurably better, even if she couldn’t see. It took hands to free up her lids, and she blinked at the harsh sunlight filling her room below.

“Tikki?” she mumbled, smacking her lips together with a frown.

“You finally awake, Marinette?”

“Why did I sleep so late?” she marveled, liberating herself from the loft space.

On the ground floor, the aircon was at full current, but it was hardly putting a dent in the odd spring heat. All of the shelves were fully stocked with freshly baked pastries, and the soft smell of warm butter radiated through her skin. Several customers alternated between blinking at her and smiling, and her eyes widened at the queue to the door.

Mom bustled out of the kitchen with a bright smile and a hearty, “Good morning! I’m glad you slept well. Ready for some breakfast?” Marinette blinked at her without answering as she carefully shifted three small baguettes from their resting pan to the bag of a waiting patron. Silently, she stepped forward and eased the pan out of her mother’s hand, with the warning of, “Careful, sweetheart, it’s still a little warm.”

In the kitchen, a veritable symphony of rhythm was in motion. Dad was furiously beating a concoction of fondant, minty green if the rise of his spatula could be believed. In front of him there were four similar bowls, each filled with colorful icing of different shades. Tucked in the corner, the industrial mixer was mashing and lifting butter and sugar into a fluffy foundation. The temperature was also millimeters warmer as the convection oven roared a lullaby of promise.

Her urge to yawn deflated at the sight of all of the work and she slipped her way toward the resting racks, near to dropping their contents they were so full. Grabbing a few more buns for her makeshift tray, she waved at Dad, who grinned at her. Memory failed her for the last time he had been so cheerful.

“Good morning, Marinette,” he announced beyond his smile, still stirring clockwise with even, practiced strokes.

“Morning, Dad. I’m getting some loaves for Mom. Can I do anything for you?”

“No, thank you, dear,” he answered, and she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction at his pleasant demeanor before twirling back toward the front of house. Mom was still at the register, a line of customer now dangling out the door. Forgetting breakfast, she began re-stocking the baskets at an Olympic pace, while she half-wondered if tomorrow was Bastille Day or something. She did not even see regulars, and yet there were so many people buying bread. At least her family would not fall behind from yesterday’s closed doors.

They worked straight through lunch, snagging quick bites of bread in the meager downtime. Mom was double-timing between baking and stocking as Marinette took over the register. Meanwhile, Dad hardly looked up from his work in the back. Yet every time she dared peek in on him, new layers and colors had been added to his tiered wonders. She grinned in delight, remembering that Dad had always been an artist in his own right. By the time Mom flipped the ‘closed’ sign around, Dad was still on his feet, still pouring batter.

And still smiling.

It felt good to be beside them, ducking under their arms, laughing and smiling with them. She had hardly even fumbled through the day, and had never once tripped over anything. _Being stuck at the register helped_ , she admitted. Her effort had made things better, righting some of the wrong she had caused the day before. Guilt still weighed on her, though, as heavy as Dad’s croissants were light. One day of work in her parents’ cafe would not make up for her mistakes.

Between the moments of punching in register orders and handling euros, her brain spat forth the notion that maybe the attack had been a good thing. The bakery was jump-started, in an almost… well, _miraculous_ way, and her parents were both bubbling with happiness.

Then a scream and, “ _I just want to bake in peace!_ ” caught her ear in an echo of rage, hooking the dichotomous thought and trampling it down. She hesitated while Mom locked the front door. She frowned at herself, quashing the blasphemy of willing an attack on anyone. Her parents were always happy, at least most of the time. They did not need her ill-hoped luck descending on them anymore than they already had.

Takeout was again the order of the evening, during which time Marinette convinced her parents to let her stay from school for just one more day. To help them recover. _To help_ me _recover_. Both Mom and Dad seemed to understand her unspoken plea more than the spoken one, and that night she laid in bed, cuddling close to Tikki, who had spent most of time in Marinette’s room trying to open the hatch.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Tikki! I didn’t mean to trap you. We were working all day. Tomorrow, I’ll be sure to leave a window open or something so you can have fresh air.”

“Tomorrow?” the sprite queried, concern in her voice.

“Yeah, one more day… I’m staying home to help Mom and Dad in the store.”

“Marinette, you know you don’t really need to. They’re adults, and they’re OK.”

She frowned mildly, wondering how she could make Tikki understand how their pain was her pain. What she had brought on all of them…

“Tikki, do you have any family?”

“Of course, Marinette!” she did not hesitate, giggling teasingly, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“You do?” Marinette gasped. “Really?”

“Yes, you see my family every day in the mirror.”

 _Oh_.

“Oh, Tikki,” she murmured, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. Tikki warmed under the affection, and Marinette pulled back so they could see one another properly. “You know that I want to protect you, too, right?”

“And I want to protect you, too.”

Marinette grinned at her, feeling the sentiment keenly. Tikki was probably her best friend, for all that she was not human. She was the best parts of Alya and Chat Noir, knowing both sides of her double life, championing her always, and never letting her be anything but her best.

“Tikki, would you tell me about the Miraculous?” she asked quietly, remembering Tikki’s compliment from the day before. If they _were_ becoming more synced in their ability to work together, that could only benefit both of them. It had been a while since her initial training, enough to get her through the first few weeks of Akuma attacks. Events still occurred where she was not sure what the Lucky Charm would provide. Did her will bring a specific item forward, something that her brain would automatically know to use? Or did the luck magnify? Pulling an item out that could inherently fit the situation? Two sides of the same coin, she reasoned, but knowing more about the process wouldn’t necessarily negate the luck, either.

“You really want to know?” Tikki asked, a measure of sneakiness to her voice that made Marinette smirk at her.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked in the same tone. It was one thing to convince herself that she needed to stop mooning over Adrien Agreste. Besides one ill-fated lunch they had hardly spent any time together. They were friendly, but they were not exactly _friends_. She was a full-time student, including her class’s president, and if she was going to start taking Ladybug’s job seriously, it meant letting certain things go, and not just her crush… She needed to step up her game on multiple fronts- confidence, responsibility, and knowing the Miraculous itself.

Her kwami knew all the answers about that. Why not ask her?

Tikki hummed and then began to speak in bits about the nature of her power, their shared power, and what it meant to hold a miraculous stone. Marinette listened until her eyelids drooped once, twice, and then remained closed in easy sleep. Tikki watched her with an affectionate smile, nuzzling under her chin to dream her own dreams.

The next day her parents kept their agreement, and Marinette kept her promise. She attended to customers tirelessly while Mom and Dad both continued baking. Four cakes were sitting in the kitchen’s display window, each waiting for pickup. Dad did not beam as he had yesterday, but he was still smiling, and Marinette recognized a kind of tired satisfaction in him that she had felt after finishing sewing projects.

It was not so busy today as yesterday had been, and she spent longer periods of quiet alternatively texting Alya and wondering how she was going to snap out of her crush on Adrien. From the moment he had smiled his way into her life she had been smitten, flush-cheeked and weak-kneed. Neither reaction had a suitable place in the direction she needed to go.

She thought about texting Alya that her love was over- no, no, that she was giving it up. She winced, as her fingers paused over the mobile’s screen. Thaaaaaat she didn’t like him anymore?

The first options sounded like a funeral announcement. The last one sounded like an implausible one-eighty, and it would raise too many questions. Besides, she wasn’t trying to fool herself, much less Alya. She still liked him. This would be a process.

She would start by distancing herself from him. Difficult, since she sat behind him in class, but she definitely didn’t need to follow him around anymore. No more _happening_ by photo shoots. No more stealing his mobile. She frowned at the memory. Distance and time provided a little clearer hindsight.

 _Did I really do that_ , she asked herself, as she finished sealing a client’s bag. The desire to frown was overridden by a practiced smile for the patron. She waved at their departure and dreamily wondered how easy it would be to just blurt out to Adrien, “I don’t like you anymore!” if he walked straight up to her. It might make things a _little_ easier.

He walked straight up to her.

He set a brown bag on the counter, and waved quickly with a small, warm smile on his face as he slipped a sheaf of papers into place next to his choices.

Marinette unglued, reaction and response competing for one another as she almost shouted, “A-Adrien!” She grinned as her heart leaped high, “What are you doing here?”

“Hi Marinette. Madame Bustier and our other teachers asked me to bring your assignments over,” he explained, gesturing to the papers. She saw the letterhead of the college but was baited more by the motion of his elegant fingers as they did not so much withdraw but glided over the counter. Her own fingers curled into fists, resisting the need to reach for her mobile and check for messages from Alya. Even so, the device buzz against her hip tellingly.

“Oh, this is- thank you,” she breathed, her face warming. He was smiling at her all the way up to his eyes. The memory of extra homework was only a pinprick against the happiness she felt as she watched him. But that pain bled into her recently adopted conviction and she wilted some.

_He’s just a boy. He’s just a boy with a life far away from yours._

“Really, Adrien, thank you so much for the effort.”

“It’s really no problem. You look good,” he responded, then snapped into a straight posture, as if he had not already been elegantly refined. His eyes cut away and Marinette’s mouth fell open.

_JUST A BOY._

“Uh, I mean you look like you’re _doing well_. After what happened to your family…” he tried again and some of the fluttering near her heart slowed itself. He turned his head back to face her and Marinette put his stained cheeks down to embarrassment. “May I ask how they’re doing? How are _you_?”

The question was unreal, but Marinette was still aware of her surroundings, of her parents in the back. She glanced to them, smiling and chatting with one another, and felt comforted.

To Adrien she nodded, “We’re OK. Thank you very much for asking.”

“Of course. I can’t imagine what I would do if my family were attacked.”

Marinette was torn between laughing and frowning. “Probably run out of the restaurant crying?” she offered.

Adrien laughed, _laughed_ , and shook his head, “No need for that. I’m sure the Gorilla would be there to pick me up, actually.”

Marinette laughed and said, “Anywhere you could get there fast… Oh!” Her eyes widened in sudden remembrance, “The bill!” She had run out of the cafe without paying her share of the bill. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“Marinette, no,” he interrupted firmly, and his hand landed on hers quickly. She stared at his face, sure that her body was going to explode at any moment. Her heart was jolting punches against her ribs but her ears were trying to lock on his words and her eyes drank in the intensity of his face. “Please, don’t worry about that at all. We were more worried about you than anything… and besides, it was supposed to be a treat, remember?” He was smiling encouragingly at her, half a head taller than she was. She tried to ease her feelings into something that could reciprocate his, but his hand was a live glove, encompassing her fingers and warming them.

“Right…” she offered. His grip pressed gently into her wrist before he withdrew, and Marinette gripped at the counter to anchor herself before she could float into outer space. “Umm… Homework, and oh, your bread!” She reached for the bag quickly, and slapped it so hard it nearly flew off of the counter before her other hand slammed down on it, squashing the contents. Gaping, she withdrew her hands and chanced a glance at Adrien, whose mouth had fallen open.

Wincing, she, prepared to apologize, when he beat her to the punch, “Nice reflexes!”

“Heh,” she offered. “I- sorry. You know, why don’t you just take these on the house.”

Wide-eyed, his surprise quickly slipped into a small, conspiratorial smile, “Are you sure your parents are going to be okay with you giving away all their product?”

Something about his sneakiness eased her feelings, and she grinned, “If they knew you had brought over homework _and_ bought my lunch you’d get more than this thrown at you, so my best advice is to take it.”

He grinned then and without further objection slipped the pastries into his familiar grey satchel. Marinette smiled, keeping her hands to herself to avoid another incident.

“Sorry, I can’t stay any longer. I have to be at a session by 5. See you at class tomorrow?”

She nodded brightly, and wondered if he did not linger a second longer before saluting and turning for the door. It jangled closed behind him, and a moment later Marinette felt familiar warmth blow across her face.

With a sigh she tried to relax her hands. The store was empty. Now would be the perfect moment to FREAK OUT about everything that had just happened. She reached for her mobile to text Alya, who would believe-not-believe her and gush and scream in triumphant joy. Her fingers touched plastic, rounded over metal, and-

She stopped.

Outside, the familiar silver car pulled away, and Marinette retracted her fingers. Now that he was gone, rational thought asserted itself again.

 _Well, it wasn’t terrible_ , she thought with a slow, deep sigh. Except for crushing his pastries, and she winced at the thought that she had sent him away with smushed goods, even if they were free, she had not made a complete fool of herself, right?

_He’s just a boy._

A boy who would likely be attacked sooner or later. And sooner would be altogether too soon. But how long could she be selfish before Hawkmoth got to him, too?

Two days out of school and hardly time to do more than work, but she had made her decision.

The bakery’s last hour slipped by in work and half-remembered patrons before supper. She begged off as too tired, too invested in her homework. Her parents, more lenient than she had ever really given them credit for, agreed.

“I’ll leave a sandwich for you in the refrigerator if you get hungry,” Mom offered and Marinette nodded as she climbed upstairs. Her room was hot, the price for Tikki’s freedom, but her kwami was waiting as she lifted the hatch.

“No dinner?” she asked curiously, her own tiny hands nibbling at a sweet Marinette had left for her.

“I need to speak to Chat,” she said by way of greeting.

“Why? Is there an attack?” Tikki squeaked.

“Not yet,” Marinette offered, quickly rearranging her pigtails from the day’s efforts, “but…”

“What’s going on in your head?” she asked carefully, setting the biscuit aside and wiping her hands.

Marinette shook her head, pushing back the sudden frustration lapping at her ankles, “My parents, Tikki. Everyone around me is being attacked- first my classmates and now my parents?”

“Whoa, Marinette, calm down. Not everyone has even been someone you know, though,” the kwami responded, trying to cut through some of her alarm. Marinette shrugged.

“That’s true, but so many of us are connected… What _is_ it about us that draws Hawkmoth?”

“Maybe it’s the power of the Miraculous? He _is_ looking for them, after all,” the sprite offered.

Marinette gasped, brows dipping sharply down as she whirled on the sprite, “Do you think he can _sense_ them? I always thought he was just trying to draw us out into the open!” Tikki shrugged without an answer, but her eyes were sympathetic as she floated in arm’s reach. With a groan, Marinette rubbed at her forehead. “I need to talk to Chat Noir. I think I have a plan, but it’s going to take both of us working together.”

“This is really pro-active of you,” Tikki murmured, but then Marinette was transforming. The power rushed over her and she did not meditate on her guardian’s words.

The bandalore was a multi-purpose tool that opened its clam-like shell quickly, but there was only static. Frowning, Ladybug set the tool back at her hip and sat down at her desk to do her homework and finally get to answering text messages. She would try again in a few minutes. Chat had promised to wait for her call. He would pick up. It was comforting how much she could trust that, as much as she could trust his flirtatious banter or never ending puns.

The homework took as much of her attention as she allowed, and a few hours passed as she steadily caught up to her classmates. There was no denying she had fallen behind, even if it was for a good cause, but even that did not worry her as much as the plan that was forming in her mind. Was she too ambitious? Not that it mattered, right now this was all she had. To keep them safe. To keep herself safe.

She opened the bandalore again to see Chat Noir’s eye smiling up at her.

“Ready fur that date, my lady?”

She chuckled and answered, “That depends. Are you buying?”

“Ooh la la, but of course,” he purred.

Familiar, and a total flirt, her partner helped her feel at ease. No one else could understand how much trouble they were in. She wondered briefly if he had ever had anyone personally in danger. How would she know?

The thought restored her focus enough to ask, “Notre Dame? 15 minutes?”

“Make it 10, Buginette,” he said while she rolled her eyes, and the line disconnected.

She climbed up to the loft, avoiding boxes of flour as she went, and quickly ascended to the roof. Her earrings had not even beeped once in the hours since she had transformed. She was still behind on her homework, but she knew without a doubt that this was more important.

Without further hesitation, she leaped from her rooftop, already whipping her line in the direction of the cathedral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure Dadmoth has a tendency to target people around Adrien. Not always, but have you seen the way he monologues before he sends out an Akuma? He’s definitely pulling creepy Santa.
> 
> Boulangerie is more for bread than pastries and sweets (patisserie), but after Tom whipped out that awesome Eiffel Tower cake, I definitely head canon the man is an ace of cakes- wow. Please make me a croissant PapaTom. A husband who can bake AND loves video games? ~~Basically, I want to be Sabine?~~
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments. Please leave one if you enjoyed the chapter (or didn't- I do listen to feedback) ( ᐛ )و


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to this song a bit while writing this chapter https://youtu.be/SeNtUpqoWwA 
> 
> [IN BETWEEN FREAKING OUT OVER EPISODE 15. I watched it twice in an hour and took screen caps. Heaven help me, MEWTOUKEN. AND EPISODE 16 TOOOOOOOO.] If you want to follow my ML fandom shenanigans, check out miraculousfille.tumblr.com

It took less than ten minutes to bound from his house to the church’s western facade, and he rather needed to run. The delicious pastries from Marinette’s family had supplemented dinner, those he could protect from Plagg, anyway. Still, they were as decadent as the eclair. More than that, he had not been Chat since the bakery attack. That evening after his shoot, his kwami had suddenly announced he should transform. Trusting him, he had done so, only to receive a call from Ladybug minutes later.

Now the warm evening air brightened his face and filled his lungs as he climbed and leapt from rooftop to rooftop, finally reaching Notre Dame. He could see Ladybug slightly lower, near the base of the spire, but carefully away from doors. He watched her as she watched the city like a red sentinel, her face set in a flat line, eyes darting back and forth. All at once her arms crossed over her chest and she ducked her face to smile as if listening to a private joke.

With a shrug he ran forward and flipped off of the tower to nail a hard, silent landing a few steps from her. He stood fluidly then dropped to a bow from his waist. Glancing up, he saw that she was smiling an amused, tolerant expression, without a hint of surprise, and he winked in pleasure. Of course he could not sneak up on her.

“You know it’s just me right?” she asked, the unspoken, ‘no need to perform’ laced through her words.

Chat grinned and sidled up next to her, buffing claws against his chest, “Oh, my Ladybug, I do adore your modesty. There is no one else I would perform for so heartily.” She sighed and Chat found himself turning out to the city with her, letting the familiar air settle around them. He could not recall a time they had been able to stand side by side like this, just letting themselves breathe, not trying to save the lives of everyone around them. That reminded him.

“So where would you like to dine? Or perhaps go to the symphony? The cinema? Or did you have another reason to call meowt?” His brows waggled at her from beneath his mask. Her pout drooped further with each option, but something about her eyes was still smiling and he grinned. One of his great joys in life was teasing her.

“First of all,” she said, holding up one imperious finger, “No one calls it ‘the cinema’ anymore, you old man. He reflected her pout back at her, then grinned quickly. That wasn’t a ‘no’. “And second of all, I thought we could skip dinner and get straight to the action.” She dropped her hands behind her back, gripping both of her elbows and smiling up at him.

Chat’s face flamed at the bold insinuation and he blinked a blank face at her. And blinked again. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he coughed once.

“My lady has become so _forward_.”

“You have no idea,” she responded, once more turning away. Her hands dropped to cling to each other as she hopped up to the railing lining the rooftop. Anyone else and he would have feared they were about to do something drastic. As it was, he was more worried about Ladybug’s expression and the serious air around her.

She was quiet, even with the heated joke. Normally she was more vivacious than this, at least willing to chat and talk. _Smiling_. Then again, normally they were in the middle of a battle and her chatting was most relegated to battle strategy and concern for victims. Was the girl behind the mask always so quiet and reserved?

Warm light was reflected up into her face when she turned calmly and said as if commenting on a new umbrella, or her lunch selection, “I want to go after Hawkmoth.”

God help him, he laughed, sudden and honest. Her face was so calm, so serious, even with its determination, for such a heavy delivery. To go after their enemy, when they did not even know a face, much less a location to go? He caught his breath and looked for her laughter, but she was glaring at him.

Chat stood up straight, all humor gone.

“I’m serious,” she affirmed, her fingers clenching into fists.

“I believe you,” he admitted, watching her posture sag a little. Her smile did not return, but she held his eye.

“I mean it. All the way,” she explained. He frowned and rubbed the back of his head. The prospect of a romantic evening seemed so far away that he could not even dwell on it.

“What does ‘all the way’ mean?”

He expected her to pick herself up and march around the rooftop with the same confidence and assurance she always embodied. It was the Ladybug he knew and adored who would act so. Instead her shoulders drooped and she looked away, her eyes darting to the side to measure his reaction. He knew that look. It was the same one he gave to her every time he saw her, but it felt different. Less hopeful than desperate. Chat Noir was many things, but never desperate.

For a moment he wanted to reach out and put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but something in him hesitated, wondered if she would not appreciate the gesture. So he kept to himself, crossed his arms in front of him and tried to give her time to gather her words. The intent was there, at least.

“Our teamwork was pretty good in the last fight,” she began, and her smile returned, small, but genuine. He clenched his arms to keep his hands from flying everywhere as he preened.

“I thought so, too,” Chat shared. Then he leveled an eye down at her. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

She clenched and unclenched her fists, struggling with something he could not figure out. Not until she gave the words, anyway. Once, she glanced at him, then looked away again. A hand absently tugged at one of her ponytails, and she huffed a sigh.

“We’re getting pretty good at slowing and stopping the attacks, but I don’t know if we’re good enough to take Hawkmoth head on,” she explained and faced him head on, once more all business. Chat waited again for her to finish, and at his patience she softened. “Sometimes we still make mistakes. We would need to work together a lot. Spend more time together to get good enough to confront him directly.”

His tail lashed in expectation, and Chat’s arms dropped down to his side, “That’s not something I’m opposed to, you know.” The offer was lightly made, but his words were honest, and he pushed a little harder, “Spending time with you is definitely one of my favorite things.”

“Working,” she corrected him.

“Eh,” he shrugged, comfortable in her easy obstinance. “Fighting or flirting, it’s all time well spent to me.”

“Chat Noir,” she warned.

“Oui, my lady?”

She groaned, her impatience giving her the strength to blurt out, “I mean sharing secret identities!” His eyes snapped to her as her flushed face continued explaining, “I mean spending a lot of time together. Knowing who the other is all of the time, being able to spend lots of free time together so we can get this right and not do it half way.”

Blue eyes stared up at him, and she returned the seconds of blinking at him while the realization wove through his brain. His face lit up.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t want to know?” he asked in a rush, his voice pitching high with a sudden giddy readiness.

“Chat, think about all the things I just said. We’re teammates now- stop leering! And we both have a world beneath our masks. Or, I do, at least!”

He stared up at her, the way her righteousness faltered and then settled again under his curious gaze. It was not forgotten between them that he had always been the one to push for the revelation of who _she_ would be, but those moments had always been in the heady joy of victory, when the entire world seemed incapable of surmounting them. Hindsight had never been a problem because she had always protected herself.

It was within his paw. Who was his Buginette? What was she like? Was she as brilliant every day as she was on the battlefield? As kind and fearless?

Only, now too, he realized that he had always wondered who she would be.

Oh, sometimes, in the privacy of the Agreste mansion when Plagg slept soundly nearby, he wondered what it would be like for Ladybug to know _him_. Would she recognize him? Did she know him? Would she spurn him and reject him? Or worse, would she fawn over him like some of his more embarrassing fans?

He had never offered. She had never asked, and recently it had seemed more and more imperative to protect his own identity, too. Maybe he was just scared.

“Neither of us are perfect. I know I’m not, and I _know_ you’re not-”

“An alarming vote of confidence-”

“But it’s so much to think about. What if we can’t get along when the masks come off? What if it complicates things even further?” She shook her head suddenly, fiercely. Light from below glinted on her eyes and he had a sudden feeling of terror that she was about to start crying.

He gave into the urge and grabbed her hand. She stopped pacing along the edge of the building and stared at him. Tiny fingers remained solid and unmoving in his. They had been in far more compromising situations, but rarely so intentionally, and he pressed his luck and his grip, to hold her a little more firmly.

“You make some good points right meow,” he sighed, and though she rolled her eyes, she did not pull away from him. “I’ll think about it and get back to you, OK?”

“It’s a big deal,” she reiterated, and he nodded. “A lot to think about,” she stressed, hopping down to draw closer to him. He grinned, wondering if she thought he had already made his mind up. He had, in fact, not. She opened her mouth, ready to press and he shook his head.

“My lady, mew are not the only one with a brain,” he half-teased, half-corrected. It was adorable to see her blush and glance down at their feet. “I hear you. I’ll take it to heart. I take it you’ve talked to your kwami, already?”

His dear one looked up at him with surprised eyes and he grinned as she slowly spoke, “She gave me the idea.

“Oh, so this is purrfectly legitimate then, is it?” His thumb rubbed a small, loose circle over the back of her hand. “As for Hawkmoth, I think it cat be done, but I need to know why _now_?” It was a fair question, even if delivered with a touch more levity than the situation called for. She looked, and finally withdrew her fingers from his hand. He let her go, curling his own against his palm, imagining he could hold the memory there a bit longer.

“It’s about protecting the people important to us. Your people.” He wondered if she could hear his heart sighing. “My people. It’s not fair to say this right now, when I’m asking you something so important, but you’re one of my people, Chat.”

His jaw clenched tightly at the revelation and he clenched his hand to keep from reaching for her. She would not need to hear his heart if she could see his eyes.

One of _hers_.

Teammates and now one of hers all in one evening.

At his silence, she nodded and stepped up to the very edge of the rooftop. “Call me when you know.”

Then she leaped away as she always did. This time, Chat held his ground, dropping the hand that had held hers onto his hip. His lady had never asked him for anything, had more often than not refused his good will in flares of independence as showy as her red suit.

Of course, the first request would be a doozy.

He sighed and back tracked his way home, giving her enough time that their paths would not cross. She had certainly given him plenty to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. https://youtu.be/zpnSCguHYmQ   
> Honestly, as much as the show, this rendition of Adrien’s character gives me a compass for how I write him.
> 
> 2\. This part (https://youtu.be/ReTP6x_sDiM?t=30) and this part (https://youtu.be/ReTP6x_sDiM?t=71) of this song also give me a lot of Adrien feels, especially in conjunction with the unofficial French trailer.
> 
> 3\. I like this story, and I have a good idea of where it is going, but I feel like I am the only one and with a busy schedule and little outside inspiration updates come slowly. If you want faster updates, the best way to encourage them is to leave a review. Thanks :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Major thanks to Greytune for thoughtful and invigorating responses.
> 
> 2\. I kind of kept my promise. I would have liked for this chapter to be out sooner, but not only do I have my first major exam of the semester tomorrow, but my uncle was put in the hospital this past Wednesday. As the geographically closest family member, I was at the hospital for almost 24 hours over the course of two days with him and my auntie. He’s home resting now, but it was very scary and I got almost zero writing done. Still, I wanted to say thank you for the comments! So here you go. It’s a little on the short side, but I still think there’s a lot going on here.
> 
> 3\. "Hold Back the River" by James Bay played on loop during this chapter's editing.

 

Marinette rose the morning after her meeting with Chat feeling as if she had run the perimeter of Paris- as Marinette and not Ladybug. There was no physical ache in her, but she was tired… Like being thirsty and unable to find water or having a constant glare near her eyes but unable to block the source. Her muscles moved well enough, but they really, _really_ didn’t want to.

Her mobile said she still had another forty-five minutes to sleep, but she had lain awake half the night, half-hoping that Chat would call her and say he was willing to share his identity, to give her some measure of peace in the resolution.

The other half of her desperately hoped he would not. They had made it this far without knowing each other, so maybe they could stand it a bit longer… even through a tougher fight? Mentally, she pushed the thought away.

She had to be resolved, especially if _she_ was pushing for the revelation. No wishy-washy back and forth. That was not Ladybug’s style. It wasn’t _her_ style, and besides, it would take nothing short of complete dedication to defeat Hawkmoth, whose power called all kinds of crazy and bizarre realities into the world. She did not understand it, and Tikki had not been able to fully explain the limits to their adversary’s capabilities.

Between her hope-not-hope, she had hardly slept, but the day was still pushing forward, and she had used up too much of her parent’s graciousness to stay home another day. Her first day back to school was sure to be _superb_.

She dressed in her familiar blazer and t-shirt, slipping on her comfortable pink trousers. They gave her confidence, the familiar works of her own hand. She could control somethings. Like how this day was going to go.

“Nothing but confidence. Right, Tikki?”

“It sure seems like it Marinette. Did you get a good night’s rest?”

“Good enough,” she fibbed as she began sliding through her homework files. No use worrying her friend anymore. Most of it was done, though how _well_ was still anyone’s guess. It had been a bit of a surprise when late last night she had received an email. From Adrien of all people! His notes had helped her muddle through the newest proofs in physics, but she was not certain she could recreate them on the spot. She would have to beg for some kind of mercy if her teacher’s chose her as an example.

Mom and Dad were surprised to see her up so early, with Mom going so far as to nearly drop her teacup. Dad was on his way back down to the shop after a snack break, but he stopped to make sure he hugged her. Marinette sank into his embrace with more gratitude than she would have a week earlier.

“Any time we see that door open before full daylight, we get nervous,” he announced. Marinette snorted as he saluted and turned away.

Mom was smirking at her.

“What? I can be mature and stuff.”

“No one doubted you, sweetheart… Ready for your first day back? I’ll bet Alya’s missed you.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be fine,” she said, slipping into almost-routine easily enough.

“Speaking of friends, Dad has a present for your friend, Adrien.”

Marinette started, turning from breakfast sharply, “Wha-?”

“Oh, we saw him bring your homework yesterday afternoon, but he left before we could send anything with him. I hope you didn’t charge him for those few pastries he got.”

Her face reddened at the memory, now with bonus audience included. She took a moment to smear nutella over her croissant and compose herself with her back turned. She did not like Adrien anymore. Not like that. Of course not. When her face flared with heat at the memory of his fingers on her wrist, she sighed heavily.

Well, it would take time, anyhow.

Still, she was beyond relieved that her parents had not stepped out and made a big deal out of him bringing the homework, sure she would have hit the roof somehow.

“What kind of present does Dad have?”

“Oh, it’s just a little cake. Boys his age are hungry all of the time, so I’m sure he’ll like it. Do you know if he likes sweets?”

“He’s not really a picky eater,” she recalled from memory. “I think some people have said he watches what he eats because of his modeling job, but I’ve never seen him be that particular. He was excited enough about Thai food the other day.” It was telling to her how much time and energy she had put into committing to memory so many such facts about him.

Mom said nothing, though, as she continued to watch the news, “Well, I trust you to know.” She sipped at her tea absently. Too absently? Marinette was not sure, but she was glad the conversation did not throw her anymore curves.

She pulled her backpack over her shoulders after breakfast and headed down stairs, seeing that she was still quite early for class. In the shop, she found dad at the register, sending a smiling customer on their way. He waved her over as she slipped through the back door.

“Did Mom tell you-”

“-that you have something for Adrien? Yeah. Though, I’m not really sure that’s necessary,” she tried, waving her hand mildly. It was one thing for her to admit to her cru- _former_ crush the truth of the situation yesterday- that her parents were more than willing to follow through on giving away half their stock in gratitude. It was another for them to actually _give_ him something. What if he thought she had mentioned it to them? What if he thought she had asked them to, that it was somehow her idea, even after the biscuits he had taken with them? What if he thought she was too much, too intense?

“You know, I think you were taking everything that happened the other day a little harder than the rest of us,” Dad announced, cutting through her train of thought. “I’m fine. Mom’s fine. If any of your friends do something to make life easier on you, then the least you can do is let _me_ say thank you.”

Marinette tried to shake off the doubt as Dad passed her a trim box with the bakery’s label neatly centered on top. It was one of the nice boxes. She looked it over and then looked up at him, who leveled an eyebrow at her, as if to say, “Is it OK?” With a half-grin, she pulled open the lid and gasped at the luscious looking opera cake inside.

“Oooh,” she appreciated. She laughed gently, “Maybe we should give Adrien something a little less flashy and keep this one here for taste testing?” The suggestion was met with a laugh as Dad closed the lid and slipped the box into a handled bag.

He passed it over with a wink and, “I’m going to assume that means it meets your approval.”

“Thanks, Dad. I know he’ll like it. I’ll be sure to send back whatever compliments he’s likely to give.”

“Oh, he’s a polite young man, is he?”

She swallowed a reflexive sigh and only nodded mildly, “He really is.”

* * *

Armed with her tenuously understood homework and an opera cake, Marinette tamped down on any lingering anxiety and confidently looped herself around the crossroads towards school.

“That’s a really nice gift for Adrien,” Tikki quietly announced, her head poking up from the depth’s of Marinette’s hip bag. “I think he’ll love it.”

“I think so, too,” she admitted. “Even if it is a little over the top. How is one boy going to eat all of this, anyway?”

“He’s probably not,” Tikki corrected. “He has a family, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Though she did not know much about Gabriel Agreste, aside from his spectacular designs and craftsmanship, she could not imagine him chowing down on a rich slice of opera cake. Though maybe he would appreciate the artistry in it. Or maybe he would hate it? Maybe Adrien would take it home and his dad would see it and turn his nose up at peasant food and he would throw the whole thing away?

She grimaced, her stomach turning, “Think it’s too late for croquembouche?” Tikki laughed and Marinette fought down her hideous urge to throw the whole thing in the garbage. She was already on school grounds, though. Where could she stash it?

“Marinette!”

The sudden call of her name made the decision for her, and she tightened her grip on the cake, grinning as Alya came barreling towards her.

“You’re back!” she said, throwing her arms around her in a surprisingly gentle maneuver. Marinette returned the bear hug as best she was able, comforted by the easy, familiar warmth of Alya’s affection. “How is everyone doing? Your Mom? Dad?”

“They’re good,” she said with a smiling nod. Alya’s face was mildly chastising even as she breathed a sigh of relief, and Marinette did not argue with her. The first day after the attack Alya had texted her relentlessly, no questions about the attack except to make sure that Marinette and her family were recovering. Marinette had answered all of the messages speedily enough, but then had come the first night of exhaustion and then the second day of working. Her responses had turned to fewer and further between, especially as the subject of Chat Noir and personal identities had begun to eat up more of her brain power.

“I’m really glad to hear it, and you’ll let me know if you need anything, right?” Alya pushed.

Marinette grinned, looping her elbow around her best friend’s as they steered toward the school steps, “What, like sending Adrien with my homework?” Alya gasped, free hand on her bosom.

“Whatever do you imply? I had to babysit!”

“Yeah, I guess your funds are running a little low since your last babysitting job was _three years ago_.”

Alya laughed, “Well since my blog is ad-free I have to make money somehow. Times are hard, Marinette.” She grinned while they enjoyed the laughter. “Since you’re back, today’s the day that we finally get to make good on the lunch promise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ugh.” The groan conveyed Alya’s usual frustration and Marinette prepared herself for a conversation she knew had been coming. “Me. You. Adrien? Nino! Luu~uunch? Eclair reparations?”

 Marinette snorted, imagining Tikki’s faint giggle from her bag, and shook her head, “The last time I went out to lunch with you three bad stuff happened, in case you’ve forgotten.” It was teasing, but Alya stiffened at her elbow. Marinette followed the tension and saw Alya frowning worriedly.

“Hey,” she said softly, “You don’t really think…?”

“What, no!” she said quickly, freeing her hand to hold it up in a placating manner. “No, not really. I just…” Here it was. The perfect moment to just _say_ it.

_I don’t want to follow Adrien around anymore._

_I don’t have the time. I can’t give up my focus._

_I don’t love him anymore._

Most of them were true, anyhow.

Her mouth opened.

“Marinette!” Both girls turned to see Nino approaching, Adrien firmly in step with him. If his beautiful face looked a little sadder than normal, what business was it of hers? She glanced away, mindful of the weight biting into the palm of her hand. Alya looped her elbow back into its resting place against Marinette’s arm, all the moral support a girl could want. The boys closed the distance.

Her mouth shut.

“Hi, Nino,” she greeted, more warmth in her words than she felt. Automatically, her eyes cut to Adrien. He was smiling now, and she wondered if she had imagined his expression before. She glanced back to Nino as his greeting followed more along the lines of Alya’s.

“I’m glad to hear your folks are doing okay. Adrien told us how busy the shop was yesterday. So things are pretty much back to normal?” Marinette swallowed down the piece of information without choking on it and nodded.

“Yes, thank you for keeping us in your thoughts.” Nino grinned, and Adrien opened his mouth to speak so that Marinette hurried ahead, “Err, Adrien!” She frowned briefly, hating the way her voice went a little breathless at his name, but she was afraid if he started speaking she would be content to listen to him go on forever. At her elbow, Alya tightened her arm supportively. She cleared her throat, “My parents saw you bringing homework yesterday and wanted to send this to say thank you.” His green eyes widened, and then relaxed as she handed the bag over, careful to avoid his fingers.

“Really, that’s unnecessary,” he assured, but he still took the bag, careful to smile at the effort her family had made. She shrugged helplessly. Adrien passed the bag to Nino as he freed the box, saying, “It’s heavy,” with a small smile. When he opened it, he jolted slightly and she felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“Oh wow, this looks delicious.”

Alya disengaged her arm to come around to Adrien’s free side, and Marinette’s embarrassment turned to pleasure as all three grinned at the cake.

“Opera cake is the best,” Nino sighed. “Even if the tunes are the worst.” Adrien laughed while Alya stuck out her tongue.

It was surprising how normal it all felt, and for a moment Marinette felt like the day was going to be OK. Really, really OK.

“Yes,” she ventured, tucking her hands behind her back, “it’s your cake. So you may share it with whoever you want.”

“Should we bring it to lunch today?” he asked, glancing from Nino’s appreciative expression to her.

“Dude, that would be sick.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” Alya added, winking at her.

Marinette’s wilting shoulders were missed as everyone turned back to gush over the cake. Lunch might be beyond her. Sitting next to Adrien while he admired her family’s work and talked about… what would he talk about? What would any of them talk about? Why had this even seemed like a good idea three days ago? Alya smirked at her from over the cake, but the smile dimmed as she saw Marinette’s reticence. Caught, she flashed a grin at her best friend.

Lunch was just lunch, right? It wasn’t destiny or anything… and… Adrien was her friend. That was all he had to be.

“…As long as we save a piece for my dad! This is his favorite,” Adrien explained.

Her perk returned and her hands relaxed, “Gabriel Agreste likes opera cake?”

Adrien smiled slightly, “Yeah, it’s not something regularly publicized, but he has a bit of a sweet tooth.” He winked at her, “Don’t tell anyone.”

She nodded her assent as the bell rang behind them, and they turned toward the building. Marinette briefly wondered if this was what it was like to arrive at school without having to huff and puff the whole way. Adrien fell into step beside her as Alya began working out lunch plans with Nino, effectively amping up her self-awareness to uncomfortable levels.

“Seriously, thanks for the cake. If it’s even half as good as the gourgeres, it’ll be delicious.”

“Oh, you liked them? My dad’s kind of a genius,” she managed. It was easy enough to talk about her family. “So no worries on that count.” It was not bragging to acknowledge what a wonder her dad was in his industry, and she smiled at the thought of a genius like Adrien’s father enjoying the cake. Not to mention Adrien himself.

“He’s OK, right?” Adrien asked softly, and despite who gave the question, or maybe because of it, Marinette felt as though a hand squeezed her chest. All in all it was not a comfortable feeling. She glanced over at him, saw that his face was angled forward, but his eyes were fully focused on her. She looked away, forcing her smile to remain bright and tried to focus on reality.

“Yep!” she answered, sounding a little manic to her own ears. When she turned back to him, though, Adrien was smiling. It was almost a tangible thing, reaching out to her with encouragement.

Marinette could not tell anyone as she took her seat in class why she suddenly felt like crying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if I haven’t mentioned it. This story is going to be a little dark. I’m going to play around in some angsty head space, and it’s going to become more painful before less, but it’s something important to me on a personal level, as I’m sure it’s important to many of you. If you are not comfortable reading about really trying things, no hard feelings if you have to leave at some point :). Take care of yourself and be well.
> 
> If you're still with me, please leave a comment about what worked for you or what didn't. I listen to what you saaaaaay :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Technicolor Beat” by Oh Wonder was listened to repeatedly for this chapter.
> 
> This is a rather short chapter and it was not beta-ed terribly thoroughly -_-;;
> 
> Hopefully the next will be longer.

At school the next morning, Adrien’s mind felt weighed down with the necessity of impending obligations. His modeling schedule was reduced while his father was out of the country, but between the remaining shoots, his classwork, and the sudden offer from Ladybug his mind was weighed down and tired.

Plagg called her choice an ‘ultimatum’ and thought he was an idiot for considering it. To be fair, the sprite usually had reservations about anything that was not cheese. He wasn’t the most fair-minded voice when it came to the possibility of big changes.

Just the same, it was the kwami’s contrary opinion about it all that stuck in his mind most sharply. They had spent several hours the night before talking about how the conversation with Ladybug had gone down.

“Why do you think she was so hesitant about it in the moment?” Adrien had asked. “It was her idea.”

“Uhh, maybe because she was giving you a way out?” Plagg shot back sarcastically while his tiny fingers maneuvered an empty cheese wrapper. Not even a flake was left after his initial attack and he grimaced.

Adrien snorted at him pitilessly, “I don’t need a way out. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Have you?” Plagg’s voice was skeptical. “Ladybug made some interesting points. What if she is a horrible girl?”

“Impossible.”

“Ugly?”

Adrien shrugged, “No one who does what she does could be ugly, no matter what she looked like.”

Plagg laughed, “You’re so naive.” Adrien disregarded the condescension and cocked his head.

“Anything else?”

With a sigh, the kwami shrugged, “No one can account for every situation, but once you know you can’t unknow.” He shot a shrewd look at his charge, “Is the advantage worth it? I think you shouldn’t even be going after Hawkmoth. You’re too young. Your powers haven’t fully matured. Hell, you aren’t even fully mature yourself.” Adrien frowned mightily at that comment.

“I’m mature,” he argued.

Plagg was too fired up to even try to retract the statement, “Your body isn’t.” Adrien relaxed slightly. “And neither is your mind. You don’t know who Hawkmoth is or what he’s capable of.” Normally Adrien would have dismissed his words as his usual grumpiness, but there was something about the way Plagg was looking at him- anger underlying his seriousness. Adrien was sure that if he had been a real cat, a line of fur along his spine would have been sticking straight up.

As it was, the unusual delivery made Adrien’s arguments stall, which had been good for both of them since afterward Plagg had been unwilling to say anything at all. He had slept restlessly until his unforgiving alarm had reminded him that he had responsibilities outside of being a superhero. He rose and began to prepare for school, but his mind was still consumed with her offer.

From almost the beginning she had been against the idea, and now she was very seriously for it. His instinct was as it had been at Notre Dame- leap at the possibility, no, the _reality_ of knowing who was beneath the red mask. As a person, Ladybug had floored him from the first moment they met, pulling him out of danger and asking him to stay out of the line of fire until she realized he was not a civilian at all but a possible ally.

He smiled at the memory, which turned into a grin as he remembered each and every time after that he had pressed to know who she really was. She had thwarted him at every turn, sometimes with a smile and sometimes with a laugh. He thought he had never overstepped his bounds, but then when Alya had been transformed by Hawkmoth at Le Grand Paris, Ladybug had calmly, sadly put her foot down. And he had respected her decision to the best of his ability. How could he disobey his heart when she was holding it in her hands?

But now…

Now she was offering freely. The choice was in _his_ hands. She thought their teamwork was good, which it was. It was always becoming better and better as they learned each other’s intentions and movements. She was hardly ever hurt, and… well, his injuries were fewer and further between as they synced up more.

Such was her rationale for a reveal, and he could not fault her logic. To go up against Hawk Moth would take everything they had. Even with Plagg’s concerns floating in the back of his head, he did not think it was a bad idea. But he had to wonder- why now? Had she been waiting for a specific moment? Or had something happened to her? She talked about wanting to protect the people important to her, but hadn’t that always been their goal? Protect Paris and make it safe for people to be themselves without worrying about transforming into monsters. This felt different. Her feelings were too visceral to be anything but personal. He wondered at the specifics of who she might want to protect, but the harder he thought about it, the more his mind tried to slip away from it.

He arrived at school that morning with an SMS from George, who was only a meter in front of him, reminding him of his pick up time. He waved his understanding as he slipped out of the car. Nino was approaching from around the far side of the stairs and he made his way over automatically.

Of course he wanted to know who Ladybug was. He wanted to know her identity almost more than he wanted to stop Hawkmoth, but what happened after they stopped him? Plagg’s remonstration was sharp in his memory, “ _Once you know, you can’t_ unknow.” Would that be so bad?

“Hey look, it’s Marinette,” Nino pointed out, and Adrien turned to see their friend approaching. She was tucked into Alya’s side, a smile on her face, in a pose so familiar that some of the strain he was feeling eased. Two days she had been absent from school- two and a half really, and he felt better seeing her returned. As they watched, the girls broke apart, holding a conversation in which Alya appeared scandalized and Marinette smug. Both of them began laughing and Adrien felt himself smile.

“Shall we say hello?” he asked to Nino, already taking a step forward. Nino agreed, quickly out pacing him by a half-step.

“What? No!” Marinette shouted at Alya as they closed the distance.

“Marinette!” Nino called, interrupting the conversation. Adrien felt a moment of hesitation as both Alya and Marinette turned toward them with confused expressions. Both girls quickly smiled, but he wondered if Marinette’s was not a little strained.

“Hi Nino,” she said brightly. She turned toward him and waved, which he returned.

“Hey, I’m glad to hear your folks are doing OK.” Curious blue eyes turned toward Alya, and Nino clarified, “Adrien told me how busy the shop was yesterday.” She shot a blatantly surprised look at him and he grinned in embarrassment, wondering if he was supposed to have kept the information to himself. Everyone had been worried about her, though. “So things are pretty much back to normal?”

“Yes, thank you for keeping us in your thoughts,” she answered graciously. It seemed like that would be all she would say on the matter, so Adrien opened his mouth to echo the concern, when Marinette quickly spoke, “Oh, Adrien!” She cleared her throat, but did not stutter over her words, “My parents saw you bring my homework yesterday and wanted to send this to say thank you.”

Carefully she extended a large plastic bag to him, and surprise welled up in him such that he knew it showed on his face. He had rarely been on the end of receiving such a personal thank you, especially when Marinette herself had given him pastries already. When he looked up at her she shrugged, a faint pink in her cheeks, and so he took the bag.

“Really, that’s unnecessary,” he assured her, but his thoughts were distracted by the weight of it. “Wow, it’s heavy.” He passed the bag to Nino while Alya tucked into his other side, and he opened the box. Another jolt of surprise ran through him, and he tightened his fingers to keep from dropping the beautiful opera cake in front of him.

“Opera cake is the best,” Nino sighed, and Adrien grinned. He knew who he would be sharing the cake with. “Even if the tunes are the worst,” his friend continued, elbowing him in the side. He spared a thought for Nathalie catching sight of the cake and then remembered with glee that she was out of the country.

“Yeah, it’s your cake, so you can share with whomever you want,” she added with a grin. He was almost too surprised at her even delivery of the words to notice that they were thinking along the same lines. He rolled his eyes at Nino’s continued appreciation and winked at Marinette, whose smile faltered.

“Should we bring it to lunch today?” he offered, smiling to bolster her own expression.

“Dude, that would be sick,” Nino enthused.

“I wouldn’t complain,” Alya offered with amusement.

Adrien was admiring the layers of chocolate and cake and almost missed Marinette’s smile drooping. A familiar pain resonated in him at the sight. The hiding. The pain only increased when he noticed her rally a smirk for Alya’s comfort.

“I definitely don’t mind sharing as long as we save a piece for my dad. This is his favorite.”

Her perk returned genuinely and for a moment she gaped at him, completely old Marinette, “Gabriel Agreste likes opera cake?”

He shrugged around a smile, “Yeah, it’s not something regularly publicized, but he has a bit of a sweet tooth.” He winked at her, “Don’t tell anyone.” The bell rang and Alya jogged around him to elbow Nino in the side. He chuckled as they began to discuss lunch plans in earnest. Seeing how Marinette was acting now, it made him glad they had decided to renew their lunch date on her return. Where before he had been certain she was OK now he was decidedly less so, and unsure about what to do about it.

“Seriously, thanks for the cake. If it’s even half as good as the gourgeres, it’ll be delicious.”

“Oh you liked them?” she asked. With a pleased shrug she explained, “My dad’s kind of a genius, so no worries on that count.” Adrien could not disagree, and he was looking forward even more to splitting the cake with friends. A year ago he could not have imagined himself in such a _normal, happy_ place with friends who liked him for him. Well, and maybe for his newly acquired cake.

Apparently, though, having friends meant worrying about them, too. Clearing his throat, quietly, Adrien turned his head slightly toward her.

“He’s OK, right?”

“Yep!” she responded. Too quickly. Too brightly.

She slipped out of his view as they took their seats, their teacher already present. Adrien kept his face forward so not to make a scene of his concern, but he knew that tone, that pretense. He had lived it for the better part of fifteen years.

With a quiet sigh he kept his attention mostly on the lecture with the last part of his brain divided between concern for Marinette and the decision he had to give to Ladybug. He could not help but smile. So much for having a more normal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your loverly comments :D! They really do make me want to write more and help keep me motivated. For those of you who asked, my uncle is home resting now and doing better. Thank you!
> 
> Please also leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


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